


Amateur Naturalist

by Mira



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:16:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set from 2024 through 2028.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Amateur Naturalist

**Author's Note:**

> Set from 2024 through 2028.

The house was boring, like something from a middle-class suburb in the States, or so Elijah told Dom, but Dom wasn't looking at the house; he was looking at the location. Which was, as he had shouted excitedly into his mobile when he'd asked them to come out, fuckin' brilliant, perfect, exactly what they'd dreamed of all these years.

So Elijah and Billy flew out and tramped around in the mud, Elijah smoking furiously, Billy's forehead deeply creased, Dom frozen in place, slowing sinking into the saturated soil, as he watched them. His throat was dry despite the lashing rain and gale-force winds.

He watched as Elijah lit yet another cigarette, sharing this one with Billy; they had to cup their hands around it to keep it from blowing out. Rain dripped from the hoods of their plastic raincoats, sliding onto each other's faces as they leaned together, presumably discussing Dom's idea. He found he was wringing his hands together under his waterproof poncho and shoved them into his jeans pockets.

They turned to look back at him where he stood on the hill above them. Elijah dropped the sodden cigarette and stepped on it, and they hiked back up to him, hanging onto each other as they stumbled over the rocky ground.

"You're mad, y'know," Billy shouted at him over the wind.

"Yeah, so?" he shouted back. "What's the decision?"

"What's the Big D?" Elijah shouted. "That Dom's an idiot, but if you think you can turn this into what we've talked about, we're in. It'll be a miracle, but we're in."

"We're in," Billy repeated.

Dom smiled helplessly at them and held out his arms, collecting them to him. "Thank you," he whispered into Billy's ear. "Thank you," he whispered into Elijah's.

They stayed nearly a month, mostly in the same hotel he was living out of but traveling a bit to visit old friends not seen in decades. Dom plunged himself into the problem of finding an architect to design the house and a landscaper to help with his vision of the property and contractors to organize the project.

"You really are mad," Elijah confirmed one night as they sat in the hotel bar drinking very old port and smoking the Cuban cigars he'd brought with him. "I mean, the idea is brilliant, it really is, but Dom, the work --"

"I know, I know," he said, smiling around his cigar.

Billy put his arm around Dom's shoulder and kissed his cheek. "How many years has he talked about this?" he asked Elijah without taking his eyes off Dom. "It'll be perfect, I know."

"And we'll retire here and live happily ever after?" Elijah asked a bit skeptically.

"Well, I will," Dom said. "And you and everybody else will come to visit, so I'll never be alone."

"Again" was the unspoken word; he'll never be alone _again._ Billy flushed and dropped his arm, but Elijah reached over and squeezed Dom's hand where it curled around his glass. "I'll come lots," he promised, his eyes still as wide and sincere as when he was a boy.

"I know, Doodle," Dom said softly, and released his grip on the port to link fingers with Elijah. "I'll build you and Bill the most beautiful home ever. I have so many ideas; I've been keeping them in my journal ever since we left."

"We'll come," Billy said at last, and Dom didn't miss the look of gratitude Elijah flashed at him. "Maybe spend the winters here, surf all year."

"Lovely, Bills," Dom said, and he meant it with all his heart.

Elijah released Dom's hand to raise his glass. "To our future home," he said softly. Billy raised his as well and the two of them looked at Dom, who scratched his neck before raising his own glass. They clinked the port and drank.

"Such a word," Billy mused a few days later, back out on the property. The day was kinder than on his last visit, and although it was still windy, the sky was clear. Dom paced out the dimensions of the house and showed Billy where his and Ali's rooms would be.

"What word?" Elijah shouted from where his rooms would eventually be built.

"Home," Dom answered. He'd known instantly. Such an evocative word. Something he longed for with all his battered heart. He and Billy exchanged glances and this time Billy didn't blush or look away. He nodded firmly.

"T'is an amazing thing you're doin'," he told Dom.

Elijah bounded over, splashing mud. "It's fantastic," he said, shading his eyes to look west over the thousands of miles of ocean. "You're a genius, Dominic Monaghan, and I love you."

"Love you, too," Dom said easily, and Elijah came to him for a hug and a kiss.

"God, I'll miss this," he sighed, and Dom held him tighter. He would, too. They saw each other several times a year, but this was the first extended period they'd spent together in some time. Dom had been amazed at how simple it was to fall back into the old behaviours, and knew he would be devastated when they finally returned to their real lives.

But at least they'd share this, and the project would give him reason to stay in closer touch with them. He turned his head when he felt Billy at his back sliding his arms around both of them. "Fantastic," he echoed. "Seriously, Dom. We should have done this years ago."

They should have, it was true. But better late than never, Dom told himself, and tried to memorize the feeling of his friends around him, to warm him in the long empty months ahead. And not only would Billy and Elijah be here periodically to inspect the progress and finally to spend time here, but the others would come, too: Viggo and Henry, Sean and his family, Sean Bean, Orli with whomever he was married to at the time, Brett, Pete and Fran, Ian, and maybe even John.

Dom could see it all in his mind's eye: a big house always full of friends who'd become family. He'd be in the kitchen cooking whilst Viggo told stories and Billy sang and played guitar and Elijah laughed and Orlando danced. It was a lovely thing, Billy was right, and Dom would midwife it into being, no matter how long it took.

He cried when they left, waving vigorously as they drove away, Elijah twisted backwards in his seat to wave back, crying as well. Before climbing into the driver's seat, Billy stared into Dom's eyes, holding him by the elbows so firmly that Dom wondered if he'd be bruised, then wrapping his arms around Dom. "Fuck," Billy choked. "Please, Dom."

"I'll be right here, Bill," Dom reassured him, stroking his back, tucking his face into Billy's neck so he could smell the familiar aftershave and shampoo scents that rose up from him. "You've got my mobile, you've got my email, you've got my promise. I'll wait right here, no matter how long it takes."

Billy hadn't said anything more, but he kissed Dom passionately, tasting Dom's mouth and lips, sucking on his tongue, and then kissing his face. "I will come back," he said as he climbed into the yellow Land Rover. "You fucking well better be here."

When the yellow dot vanished around a corner, Dom dropped his arms and sighed. He knew the other inhabitants of the hotel had been watching their farewell and he was a little embarrassed. He wiped his face, rubbed his nose, and straightened his back, giving any observers time to return their attention to their morning paper and porridge. He had a meeting with the architect at ten; just enough time to do some yoga and then listen to something that would shake off his melancholy.

Tom the architect, a nice man about the age of his brother Matt, was impressed with the sketches Dom brought with him. "You've an artist's eye," he told Dom, stroking his fingers over the smudgy chalk of the drawings. "I see what you're getting at -- every window looking at something special. Something . . ." he paused to look at another picture. "Looking at something elegant," he finished. "This in particular is beautiful."

Dom saw he was looking at the drawing he'd made of what he called Billy's garden, a private area off Billy's room that merged indoors with out and looked straight out to sea. "Yeah. Me mate's a surfer, y'know."

"Ah, yes. The path to the beach. I've met with Alistair Headleand, your landscaper, and we're going to collaborate on that design. I have a few ideas and, from this, I think you'll like them. D'you mind if I keep them secret a bit longer? Till I've worked them out with Alistair?"

"Not at all," Dom said, though in truth he was wildly curious. "We own the property twenty metres into the water, so I was thinking maybe a little pier as well."

"It's a lovely bit of land you've got yourself, Mister Monaghan. A privilege to work with something so wild. A challenge, too."

"Yeah, don't wanna blow off the cliff, or slide down into the beach."

"I can't guarantee the latter, but we'll make every effort to prevent it." Dom smiled. Tom was right. But someone had built there before, even if the house was dead boring, and Dom would go them much better. Tear the old house down and restore the land as much as possible -- Dom nodded to himself. It was indeed a challenge. "I'm meeting with Alistair later this afternoon," Tom continued. "Why don't the three of us meet on Monday. We'll have something sketched out for you then and if you like it, we can start on the actual blueprints."

"That's great," Dom said. They rose and shook hands, and Dom returned to the hotel. He thought he could eat a bit, now that the upset of saying goodbye to Elijah and Billy had passed, and return his attention to the project.

The Project. He smiled to himself. Elijah, with his always surprising sensitivity, had brought Dom a beautiful new journal, with sueded leather binding and heavy pages. He picked it up from the dresser and stroked it fondly. Then he found a calligraphy pen and inked the words "The Project" on the first page. On the second page, he sketched their new home as it existed in his head and heart. On the third, he listed Alistair's and Tom's names and numbers. And on the fourth, he began to write.

In the afternoon, he drove out to the site and began surveying the plants. He had a vision of returning the land to only native plants; here on the west coast so near Milford Sound, they'd get well over two hundred inches of rain a year. Global warming had increased the rainfall, and he knew that plants once limited to temperate zones were growing in what had formerly been sub-alpine regions. All factors he needed to take into consideration as he developed the land.

It was mad to build here, but he loved the rainforest and felt he could contribute something to New Zealand by restoring however small a plot. Not that their plot was that small. He envisioned lots of tree-ferns, so representative of New Zealand to Dom, and a couple of cabbage trees, not because he liked them but because they, too, were emblematic of the country. He used Elijah's notebook to list what he found, starring the non-native plants.

The survey would, he realized as he pressed a hand into his lower back, take days. Although the wind was calm for a change, clouds had rolled in and he was shrouded in clammy fog. One of the many things he loved about this place was the lightning-swift changes of weather. If you don't like it, wait a minute, he'd told Billy over the mobile when describing the location. He could see the beach below, the water as grey as the sky, where the waves rolled steadily in, the heartbeat of their new home.

The weeks passed, and Dom sank into this new life. After years of nearly continual travel, he surprised himself by how easily he settled into a daily routine in one place. He liked the hotel in the town; tourists came in flocks, like migrating birds, then they'd suddenly fly off and he'd be the only guest for a few days. Because he had a certain notoriety, he became a tourist attraction as well: the Amateur Naturalist in New Zealand. He spent most of his days out at the site, watching the demolition of the original home, wincing at each tyre tread and damaged plant, but still found time to give lectures to the busloads of tourists, discussing Milford and Doubtful Sound, the glaciers, the migrating whales, and his favourite topic, the rain forest around them.

"We should pay you, Mister Monaghan," the manager of the hotel had shyly suggested after one enthusiastically-received lecture and slide show.

"Don't be silly, Edison," Dom had said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I love this, you must know that."

"Yes, but you're bringing us more business. You must know that havin' a hobbit livin' here is news, and that it's the amateur naturalist returned is even bigger news."

In fact, Dom hadn't realized he was news, and he could barely contain his smile. He remembered well those awful years in LA right after Rings, when nothing seemed to be happening for him. He'd partied too hard and made some spectacularly stupid choices back then. Despite his subsequent successes, those years of rubbish, as he called them, still haunted him, and on very bad nights he'd wake up sweating, convinced he was back there, living on Elijah's couch or in Mack's spare room, smoking everything he could fit into a bong in the hopes of forgetting his misery.

Well, all that had ended years ago, but Edison's appreciation still soothed Dom's fragile heart. "I wouldn't take a penny," he told the manager. "Remember I'll be moving out to my new home as soon as the roof's on and I can camp out there."

Edison nodded. "We'll be sorry to say goodbye," he said. "I hope you'll still come in once a week to give your talks, though. You'll always be welcome here."

Dom nodded, more pleased than he thought he should be. He worked up a few new lectures for Edison's guests. He'd always loved teaching, his father's influence no doubt, and his years as the amateur naturalist for the Discovery Channel had taught him how to thread information together in an interesting and occasionally exciting way. He'd always been a good writer, though his spelling was for shite, and he could still make people laugh. With the right material, like the loss of the moa, he could move them to tears.

Unable to stay away, he began occasionally camping out on the property; Tom stayed in his own tent a day or two with him, watching the sun and the moon rise and set, noting the views on sunny days, and shivering in the fog and rain. "I think we should angle these windows," he'd say, pointing at Dom's latest sketches. "Put a skylight here, see? Look at the sun," and he'd point, tracing an arc across the sky. "Think how that'll feel on a cold winter's morning."

"Lovely," Dom said, nodding, and Tom would make the changes on the blueprints.

Alistair practically lived onsite as well, spending nearly all day with Dom. They did a lot of the work themselves, squelching in the mud or getting splashed by waves on the beach. There was too much work going on near the house to do more than rescue plants by moving them. "What the hell should we do with the non-natives?" Dom asked Alistair. "I've got a fucking forest of beech trees."

"Just because you don't want them doesn't mean no one does," Alistair said dryly. "You could sell them to a nursery."

"You think anybody would really want them?"

Alistair grinned at him. "I'll get word out." And suddenly Dom ran a nursery, or the equivalent to one. A woman came all the way from Queenstown for his beeches. Dom refused to sell them; if someone wanted them, they could have them. Alistair's two oldest girls made a makeshift table on the road above the house, and after potting the smaller plants, had a stream of takers for them as well.

"You're not gettin' rid of the blackberries, are ya?" Tessa asked incredulously.

"Not native," Dom told her.

She fixed him with her eye. "Have you had my mum's trifle? You shouldn't be tearing out somethin' that tastes so good."

Alistair laughed and hugged her. "His land, his decision, honey."

Dom thought about it; he found Tessa's argument persuasive. Lots of the non-native plants were very attractive. And what did non-native mean, anyway? As Alistair kept pointing out, some plants literally floated to New Zealand; others were carried by birds. He tried to ask Billy and Elijah on their fortnightly call, but as usual, they deferred to him.

Elijah was helpful, though. "You said you were gonna restore the land. You should go with your instincts, Dom. They're good. And we can always buy blackberry jam."

"That's true," he agreed. And it wasn't as though blackberry bushes were endangered in any way. So he had them hauled out, but promised Tessa he'd put in lots of mountain wineberry bushes to replace them. Their pink flowers would be a pretty addition to the property, and the plant was found only in New Zealand. He was happy with the compromise, though he wasn't sure Tessa was satisfied.

All the eucalyptus trees came down; widow-makers, the Aussies called them, so Dom was happy to replace them with mountain ribbonwood. He kept the eucalyptus wood for the fireplaces, though. Dom was especially pleased with all the rose broom that he and Alistair planted, because it was endangered. He thought it was beautiful with its purple flowers. Alistair said it would grow to eight or ten feet, and so protect the house from the fierce westerly winds.

Dom, sensitive to the slightest changes in his physical environment, could almost see the new plants rejoicing in the setting, drinking in the wild rain. This would be the original New Zealand, what the Maori had found, not what the white man had brought with him.

That wasn't, Alistair reminded him regularly, strictly fair. "Can't blame everything on us Pakeha."

"Not blame," Dom would protest, fingers gently untangling a rootball or sprinkling sphagnum moss around a flowerbed. "Really, I'm not blaming anyone. It's just I want to see it the way it was, the way it should be."

"Some ecologists say that the way it is is the way it should be, else it wouldn't be that way."

"Bollocks," Dom said firmly. "That's just laziness. It's our duty --"

Alistair began to laugh. "I've never heard such a one for duty," he said. "You're a very dutiful man, you are."

Dom shrugged, a little embarrassed, but truly, he was a dutiful man. He owed the world for his good fortune. He still had his parents, unlike Billy, and they were so proud of him, unlike Elijah's dad. He'd found more than his fair share of success; he hadn't succumbed to alcoholism or drugs or AIDS or any of the terrible chances he taken during his years of rubbish. He was a lucky, lucky man, and he wanted to repay the universe for its generosity.

"Guess so," was all he'd say to Alistair, though he'd write pages in his journal explaining and defending his position to himself.

And that was rubbish, too, he admitted to himself, but it made him feel better, and he loved watching the pages of his journal fill up. Little sketches, pressed flowers, dried grasses, photographs taken with his mobile phone also filled the book; as it grew, so did his new home.

Finally, the old foundation was torn out and hauled away, and the new one poured, with deep concrete piers to anchor it. The flooring went down and the walls were framed. Over two months had passed until the roof was put up, to protect the work and construction crew from the weather.

"This fucking weather," Dom moaned to Elijah and Billy. "It's delay, delay, delay."

"Well, you're building in a fucking rainforest," Elijah reminded him. He was somewhere in New Mexico, filming another movie. "I wouldn't mind seeing a little rain again. They're in the middle of the worst drought in three hundred years."

"Are ya really livin' there?" Billy asked Dom.

"Yeah. It's not so bad; I'm in the house itself, now that the roof's up. There are port-a-loos, and water's no problem. I keep a room at Edison's and go in a couple of times a week, for a hot bath and to lecture the tourists."

"You're in heaven," Elijah accused him. "Despite all the delays. What'll you do when it's done?"

"Idjit," Billy laughed, and Dom laughed, too. He was in heaven, although, really, the delays were more than annoying.

"Have you checked the invoices I'm faxing you?" he asked them.

Elijah blew a raspberry down the phone. "This is more than our home," he said. "This is, I dunno, this is the future. A preserve within a national park, right?"

"He's right," Billy said seriously. "We know you're not spending it on wine and women. Or at least not much. Just keep the house safe up on that cliff."

"And yourself," Elijah added. "Don't you go surfing alone, Dom. It's too dangerous for old hobbits."

"Fuck you," Dom said, but his heart warmed at their concern.

One drenchingly rainy night he woke to the sight of a tall skinny man with a torch shouting his name. "Orli?" he asked, trying to block the light. "For fuck's sake, Orli, shut up."

Orlando dropped to his knees; the torch rolled away from them, the light shining horizontal to the flooring but reflecting enough back so that Dom could see he'd been crying for some time. "Orli?" he said again, and reached for his friend.

"Fuck, Dom," Orlando answered and knocked Dom back into his sleeping back. He was soaked; rainwater sluiced off his waterproof.

"You great drip," Dom said, trying to sit up and pull the wet clothes off Orlando. "What is it? Is Jennifer all right?"

Orlando simply wept harder, so Dom resigned himself to not knowing for a while longer. He managed to get the raingear off Orlando and hung it to drip in what would eventually be the hall, along with his muddy boots. He wrestled Orlando out of his sweater and the soaking blue jeans, dried him off, then rolled him into the sleeping bag and squeezed in next to him.

Orlando had stopped moaning by then; he was as pliable as a sleepy child and simply watched Dom, his enormous eyes shiny with slow-forming tears. "There now," Dom said, pulling the damp covers up to their chins. He twisted onto his side so he could look at Orlando. "You're a right mess."

"Sorry," Orlando said hoarsely. "Been looking for you for hours. Man at the hotel sent me here but I got lost and the car got stuck in the mud and I walked forever and then I fell down." He hiccuped. "Also, I've been drinking." Since he reeked of alcohol, Dom had already come to that conclusion. "Sorry. He snuggled next to Dom. "This is so nice, Sblomie. Thank you."

Dom smiled helplessly. Orlando was tall and gorgeous and fabulously wealthy and desired by men and women the world over, but right now he looked like a whipped puppy. "My pleasure, Orli. Now, go to sleep. We'll sort this in the morning."

"Mmm." Orlando fell instantly asleep, his breathing slow and measured. Outside, the rain continued to thunder down; in the half-built house, Dom felt as though they were in a submarine, a pocket of air surrounded on all sides by water. But inside, for a little while, they were safe. He kissed Orlando's cold nose and went back to sleep.

He woke again at dawn. It was still raining, but a gentle hazy mist. The sleeping bag was warm; Orlando put out a lot of heat for such a skinny guy. He was sound asleep and snoring softly. Dom figured he'd be down with a cold in a day or so, after getting drenched and wandering through the night for who knew how long. Why Edison hadn't kept Orlando at the hotel Dom couldn't guess -- except knowing Orlando, wild horses probably couldn't have kept him away. He'd come half-way across the world looking for Dom; he wouldn't let some rain and mud get in the way.

Orlando snorted and rolled onto Dom, who watched as his eyes flickered open. Orlando sighed heavily. "I'm a fucking mess," he told Dom, who nodded, pursing his lips as he tried not to laugh.

"You are, love. I'm going to fix some breakfast; could you eat anything?" Orlando paled. "Tea?"

"Tea I could manage."

Dom crawled out of the sleeping bag, jumping from foot to foot to keep off the cold wooden flooring until he could shove his feet into his fleece-lined boots. He dragged a plaid robe around himself and then his coat. "Nice ensemble," Orlando said. Dom flipped him off.

In what would eventually be the kitchen, he and the construction crew had set up a little propane burner; it boiled water quick enough, so he could have tea or instant coffee and porridge. The partitions for the walls were up, but he could still watch Orlando all the way across the house through the framing. "How d'you like it?" he shouted when he'd lit the tiny burner.

"You need to explain what I'm looking at." Orlando sat up and wiped his eyes and scrubbed his head vigorously, making his hair stand nearly on end. Dom rubbed his own much thinner hair in envy.

When the water was on the burner, he stood at what would be the doorway to the back garden and pissed. Orlando came and imitated him, so they pointed out targets to piss on -- there were still lots of mounds of rubble to be hauled away. When they'd shaken themselves dry, Orlando put his arm around Dom and kissed the top of his head. "Thank you," he said sincerely, and Dom saw his eyes were watering again.

"Big wally," he muttered, but patted Orlando reassuringly. Orlando leaned against one of the posts and watched as Dom puttered around the makeshift kitchen, making the tea and pulling out a bag of damp pfeffernuesse, one of his secret cravings. They sat cross-legged on the sleeping bag and slurped big mugs of the strong tea. Orlando was able to eat two biccies, which pleased Dom absurdly.

When he sighed contentedly, Dom looked at him. "Out with it, my boy. Eighteen thousand miles is a long way to come for a biscuit."

Orlando blushed, dropping his head so his hair fell charmingly into his eyes. Dom felt another rush of envy for Orlando's beauty, but only patted Orlando's arm. "Got left again," Orlando finally said.

"For a bloke or a girl?"

"Bloke this time. That's worse, y'know." Dom looked at him curiously. "Well, when Hillary left me for Felicity, I thought: I can't compete. No pussy, no tits, y'know? But Jennifer's left me for fuckin' Colin Farrell." Dom choked on a biscuit. "God's truth, Sblomie. And I introduced them. The last movie, y'know? And he was such a nice bloke. Partied and danced." Orlando's high cheekbones bloomed carnation pink. "He kissed me, y'know? Did I tell ya? I thought, maybe, and then he did it again, kissed me, I mean, when the shoot ended, but no, he got Jennifer and I got fuck all."

Dom shook his head. "Orlando, you have the worst luck with wives I have ever heard of. That's five --"

"Six. It's six in seventeen years. I worked that out, y'know, and it comes to two point eight three three. Just under three years per wife." To Dom's discomfort, Orlando began to cry again. "Look how long me mum was with her man. And I can't even manage three years. I'm such a shit, Dom. What's wrong with me?" He began to cry harder. "Why do they keep leaving me?"

Dom set his mug down and raised onto his knees to hug Orlando. "Nothing's wrong with you, Orli. Not a goddamn thing. They're stupid cunts to let you go." He kissed Orlando's cheek. "Look at me. Come on, love, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you except you don't choose your women well. I promise I'd tell you, Orli. You know I would."

Orlando sniffed and rubbed his left eye. "You've never hesitated to tell me I'm a prick."

"When you are a prick, yeah. But you haven't been. Okay? Believe me?" Orlando nodded, but he radiated misery. "How long can you stay?"

"A while. I have to be in, uh, Tunisia? Turkey? Someplace like that. Not for a month, maybe."

"Then stay here, okay? You can either doss down here with me, or stay in the hotel. Edison would be glad to have you. Big tourist attraction like you? He'd pay you to stay there." Dom was pleased to see Orlando smile at that. He patted his friend's arm. "Drink your tea; it's gettin' cold. Then I'll show you this place."

Orlando was gratifying impressed with the house that Dom was building. "It's a fuckin' castle," he said several times. Dom tried to point out that technically it was the exact opposite of a castle: It would live lightly on the soil, it was neither massive nor imposing, it was in no way fortified against the world. Orlando shrugged off the definition. "It's your castle, Dommie," he said again. "It's just like you."

That pleased Dom more than he could say, so he hugged Orlando again. "Now put your boots on and I'll show you the grounds."

"Fuck, it's still raining."

"This? This is nothing. Rain is what you arrived in. This is just fresh air."

Orlando rolled his eyes, but he let Dom lead him around the house, up to where the four-car garage that would be tucked away neatly and nearly invisible from either the road or the house, then to the stakes marking the site of the swimming pool. Everywhere he pointed out the plants.

"What's all this?" Orlando called, staring down between his boots.

Dom crouched down, lightly touching the tiny grey-green leaves. "It's a saxifrage," he said. "My favorite plant. It isn't native to New Zealand, so technically it shouldn't be here, but I love it so much. I guess the last owners did, too. Anyway, after talking it over with Alistair and Elijah and Bill, I decided to have a kind of saxifrage garden here. Every kind in the world, as long as Alistair decides it won't hurt anything."

Orlando knelt gracefully and put his hands around Dom's. "It's beautiful," he whispered. "Look, Dom. It's the same colour as your eyes."

Dom blinked at that, and then smiled. He had in fact noticed that, but he never dreamt another person would, and certainly not Orlando. "Yeah," he finally said.

A horn honked and they looked up. "That's Alistair," Dom said. "Let's walk up and meet him. He's got four girls, so don't be surprised if he wants autographs."

"Oh, let's have a party," Orlando said instantly. Dom shrugged. Why not? In town, not out here; he didn't want any further damage to the property. But yeah. A party would be just the ticket.

Dom had a fortnightly conference call to Billy and Elijah scheduled for that afternoon; it was twelve hours earlier in Glasgow and eight earlier than that in LA. Finding a time they could all talk wasn't easy, so they took turns being inconvenienced. This time was Bill's; he'd have to be up at four in the morning, so he sounded cranky when he answered.

"Dom, we've been talking," he said once their greetings had been exchanged, including to Orlando who sat on the floor of his room at Edison's and listened to the speaker phone over Dom's laptop. "I love talkin' wi' ya, but things have progressed enough. I trust you. So Elijah and I have opened a new account for you. We each put in half a million NZ dollars. Use it for the house and grounds, okay? You don't need our approval. Just get receipts or my accountant will have me hide."

"Dommie?" Elijah called. "We trust you, okay? Just do what you think is best."

"He thinks it's brill," Orlando said for him. "But Billy's such a skinflint; I think Dom's in shock."

"Fuck off," Billy said, but he was laughing. "I had a good year, and besides, I don't need to know if it's brass or copper fittings on the cupboard doors."

"Thanks," Dom was finally able to say. He couldn't meet Orlando's eyes; he was too pleased to learn how much Billy and Elijah trusted him on the project.

"No, thank _you,_" Elijah said earnestly. "The work you're doing, it's just amazing, Dom. Did you know I read about you in the LA Times? Well, Hannah did and she called me. It said the work you're doing to restore that part of the coast is unprecedented. I'll email you the URL so you can read it."

"Unprecedented," Orlando echoed admiringly.

The review was glowing, Dom discovered when he read it late one night. He downloaded it to his harddrive to re-read; it was that kind of a pleasure. The reporter had even been out to see the property, but surprisingly had respected his privacy enough not to identify the precise location. She'd written knowledgeably about the local economy and ecology and recent history, how the land had been damaged by humans and the invasion of alien plants and animals. "The amateur naturalist has settled in to practice what he's preached for so long: to restore a vest-pocket parcel of valuable land. The country of New Zealand will owe him for the investment he's making not only in time and money, but for the careful research he's done and the slow, cautious progress he's making. Yes, it will be a private home, but the work Mr. Monaghan has done will spread. Naturally, as the plants and animals move beyond the borders of his property, and even, I dare say, spiritually, as others emulate his praiseworthy efforts."

Dom actually blushed the first time he read those words. He sent the article to his parents and brother, and shyly showed it to Orlando.

"Fantastic, Dom," Orlando said earnestly, staring into the glowing monitor. "I could never do anything like this. It's real, what you're doing, not pretend."

"You don't pretend," Dom had objected, but Orlando was still feeling the pain of losing yet another wife.

"Yeah, I do. I pretend in my work, and that's okay, but I pretend in my life, too, and that's why you're real and I'm not." He surprised Dom by kissing him on the lips, something they rarely did anymore. "Gonna take a walk, and don't worry. I'm not going drinking. Just need a bit of air."

Dom watched as Orlando left the hotel room. He was anxious to get back to the property, but decided to wait on his friend.

Orlando stayed for over three weeks, mostly getting in the way, but amusing Dom. He'd always been a slim man, but the misery of losing Jennifer had brought his weight even further down, so his ribs corrugated his chest and his hipbones were dangerously sharp. Dom made sure he gained some weight back, and they talked about his drinking quite seriously; Dom had street creds there, so Orlando listened carefully.

Dom threw a party for Orlando at Edison's hotel, and invited nearly everyone from town. His construction crew was there; his architect Tom and Tom's partner, Angus; Alistair and his wife and four daughters; and all the tourists housed at Edison's that week. "This is as bad as Bilbo's eleventy-first," Edison told him, mopping his sweaty face. "I think you bought out all the booze and food in the district."

Dom didn't care. He had a brilliant time, and better, so did Orlando. "This is Tessa," Dom introduced his best helper in the garden after Alistair, "and her sisters Luka, Patricia, and Emma. Girls, this is Orlando Bloom."

They stared at Orlando, none except the youngest daring to speak. "Pleasure to meet you," Emma whispered, turning as red as Dom's merlot. "Would you autograph my cast?" She'd broken her arm playing footie and wore a pale-pink cast over the left forearm. Dom handed Orlando a biro so he could scrawl his name on the plaster, adding a big flower. "For Dom's garden," he explained, and then kissed Emma, who swayed.

"Here's her mum and dad," Dom pointed out. He was wondering why Orlando flustered them when he did not. Later he asked Alistair.

'Oh, Mister Monaghan! You've no idea the cooing that goes on behind yer back, do ya. All the ladies and a few of the lads are quite taken with ya. It's just that we have to live with ya, so t'speak, but Mister Bloom -- well, he won't be down at Oliver's picking up a bottle of Panadol Extra-Strength, now will he."

Dom pursed his lips, but he had to admit that Alistair had a point. "Cooing, eh?" he said. That was reassuring.

He and Orlando slept together during Orlando's stay; not just sharing a bed or sleeping bag, but making quiet love, much different than in the days of Rings when Dom had crashed into anything that moved, and Orlando had happily fallen. This was different. In the intervening years, Orlando had become a cuddler, and he'd hold Dom tenderly, stroking him, kissing him, nuzzling his neck and ears until Dom had to laugh, and they'd laugh together. "I'll miss you," Dom whispered late one night when they were still sweating and panting.

"Me, too," Orlando said sadly. "I wish things were different."

"Things are what they are," Dom said, but he knew what Orlando meant. If Orlando hadn't signed for this and the next three movies, if he still didn't want Jennifer, if he didn't love pussy as much as he did, they might have remained together. But despite Pete's best efforts, New Zealand was not LA; it wasn't even London, and Orlando needed to work. Not for money, thank God, but he needed to burn his energy and use his talent, and he needed crowds of people around him in a way Dom no longer did.

"I miss that boy," Edison told Dom a few days after Orlando had driven his dented rental car away. "Bit of a laugh, he was, and Lord God knows the girls do love him."

"That they do," Dom said, and so did he.

He returned to his pre-Orlando routine, and although he was lonely, he also felt good about helping a mate. That's what this place was for: restoration. Not only of the native plants and animals, but of his friends and family.

The house was coming together quickly now; soon he'd have to begin the long process of finishing the interior and the grounds. He was a bit nervous about the interior, but Billy and Elijah insisted he do what he thought best. "I'm shite at that anyways," Billy said. "You know what a lazy bugger I am, and Elijah thinks interior design is when you can see past the dirty clothes to the floor."

"Punter," Elijah said, but he didn't deny the allegations.

"Jesus, so now I'm an interior designer?" Dom asked, and they shouted "Yes!" so loudly his laptop's speakers buzzed.

"Got just the ticket," Alistair told him. "There's a girl in Christchurch, Mary Gillenhall, does this stuff. She worked for your mate Jackson on something; you might even know her. She's mostly retired, but I bet she'd come out for _you_."

She would indeed come out for Dom. "I've heard so much about you," she said when he'd called and explained the project. "You don't remember, I'm sure, but I helped with the design of Meduseld. Those draperies? And the wall hangings?"

"They were gorgeous," Dom said, and he meant it; he'd loved Meduseld, and it had nearly killed him when he learned that most of his scenes there had been cut in the theatrical version. "Let's hear your ideas for my place."

"I've been thinking about it since Alistair called, and I read up on what you're doing. Alistair is so proud to be attached to the project; I think you'll be written up in every architectural digest and nature journal in the world by the time you're finished."

"I'll never be finished," Dom said, and realized it was true. He smiled into the mobile. "Not really. But I do need a place to sleep besides my sleeping bag. I'm gettin' a bit old for that. When can you come?"

They settled on a date, and Dom's journal began to include lists of ideas for the interior: tile here, carpet there, blinds at this window, curtains at another.

The colour scheme bothered him. He thought about it whilst sweeping up the rubbish that accumulated as the house came together, he thought about it whilst selecting rocks from the beach for the fireplace in the lounge, and he thought about it whilst deciding what stains to use on the front and back porches. Mary needed to know before she arrived with her helpers, and neither Billy nor Lij had any useful suggestions.

He stood on the paved path that led from the pool to the beach so far below and stared out at the ocean. It was another blustery day, the clouds scudding across the sky like fast-moving schooners, blue and grey and white. At his feet, the tiny saxifrages throve, and he remembered Orlando remarking on their similarity to his eye colour.

Suddenly he knew: the house would reflect Billy, Dom, and Elijah literally. Green, blue, and grey, with touches of white and black. Minimalist, almost Japanese, but deeply luxurious so the boys would never want to leave.

Mary loved his ideas, and Dom didn't think she was faking her enthusiasm. "Perfect for the work you're doing," she said, hauling swatches of material from a voluminous case he'd lugged down to the house for her. She stared into his eyes, and then at the glossy photos of Billy and Elijah he'd printed out from the internet. "Lovely," she murmured, touching Elijah's. "And his are such an interesting hazel-y green." She looked up at Dom, smiling. "What beautiful creatures you all are," she said sincerely, and Dom blushed. "God made you well."

"Um, ta, Mary," was all Dom could manage, but he thought about that when lying in his sleeping bag that night. God made you well, she'd said. Not one of the three of them was conventionally handsome the way Orlando was; not even like Vig when he'd been their age. But he agreed with Mary. At least Billy and Elijah had something that transcended mere good looks. He would die before admitting to them that he thought it was their essential goodness that shone out. Billy had once called Elijah "noble," and Dom had never forgotten. They both were noble men. Damaged in childhood, astoundingly talented, tough and sweet, hard-working and hard-playing; they were his role models, his touchstones; they were, he thought, the genuine article.

He'd like to be the genuine article himself, but of that he was much less sure. Still, he tried hard. Especially now. His years working as the amateur naturalist had been better for him than he'd realized at the time. Then, he'd been too busy traveling, filming, writing, producing, seducing kings and prime ministers and presidents into letting him capture images that often didn't reflect well on them. Hard work and a lot of it, much spent alone, in a hot tent in some Mars-like landscape. But he'd done wonderful things, he thought; even won a few awards.

Did that make him beautiful, as Mary had called him? He didn't think so. He'd been tempted to have surgery to tuck his ears closer to his head, but they'd become signature, like Clark Gable's. His face was weathered from years outdoors, his hair thinning with a high forehead, but he was physically stronger than ever.

Still. Was lovely to be called beautiful, even by someone older than his mum. He fell asleep that night smiling at himself.

Mary hired a crew, mostly women, who traveled together like a flock of noisy geese; they settled into Edison's hotel and produced draperies and curtains and slip covers and bedspreads of such beauty that the townswomen came to beg for copies for their own homes. Mary arranged for a special carpet to be made in Invercargill, wool, of course, but the sheep were bred to produce coloured fleece, so no dyes contaminated the wool. She knew a glassmaker in Christchurch who made tiny windows for the French doors in Billy's room, and who arranged for special glass to be made to protect the pool from the violent gales the area was subject to.

The grounds were progressing, too. Dom and Alistair had become fast friends, and he occasionally had dinner with his family, including his four girls who suffered from terrible crushes on him. He ate up their admiration, and felt some shame about enjoying it so much, but they were so sweet and enthusiastic. He went to one of their football matches, but the parents were as disruptive as the girls when they recognized him, so that was the last game he watched.

Alistair stood surveying their work. The ground was nearly covered with sedges and tussock grass, spiked with kauri, bordered by wineberry and tea-tree and black pines, and everywhere were the tree-ferns, many ornamented with epiphytes. No one place in new Zealand had ever before contained so many species, but Dom and Alistair drew them together, planting them carefully, designing microclimates for them to thrive in.

Along the many paths grew Dom's saxifrages. Not native, no, but he loved them. He didn't expect Lij or Bill to understand, but he loved their tenacity, their tiny flowers and tufted leaves, their connection to the past and the rest of the world. Alistair had come to love them, too; he pointed with his sandaled foot at them and smiled at Dom, who nodded. "I can't believe you found a saxifrage named William Boyd," he said.

Dom grinned. "I can't, either." He bent over and cupped the butter yellow flowers that had already blossomed among the rocks. "I'm going to plant more, around the retaining walls and in Billy's backyard."

"That's fitting."

"You do fine work, Alistair," Dom said.

"So do you. It's a pleasure to have had a part in creating this. When will the other owners arrive?"

Well, that's the question, Dom thought. "I'm not sure," he said. "Soon, I hope. But it depends on their schedules."

Alistair nodded. "I saw Mister Wood's last movie. He was amazing. Deserved that award."

"Yes, he did," Dom said confidently. Elijah had been brilliant; of course he had been. He still looked young enough, and he certainly was small and frail enough to play Sammy Clay with his polio-damaged legs. Dom had cried several times in the theatre in Wellington, where he'd flown to watch the movie with Pete and Fran. "I hope he'll get a break soon; he's filming in Toronto right now. And Billy's in a play in London that's successful enough that I'm not sure when he'll be free." He shrugged. "They'll come when they come."

"Pity," Alistair said, not looking at him. "After all the work you've done. Ah well. None of my business."

Dom clapped him on the back. "I'll miss working with you. I hope you won't be a stranger. Bring your girls to swim, and inspect my attempt at maintenance."

Alistair beamed at him, and touched his hat with a finger. "My pleasure, sir. My pleasure."

"When's their next free Saturday or Sunday?"

"I'd have to check with my wife."

"Do. I'll call you in a day or two and we'll set something up. The inauguration of Billy's pool."

"Billy's?"

"Well, really, he's more a surfer. But I built it with him in mind."

"Then I hope he sees it soon."

They said goodbye, and Dom was left alone. For the first time, he was alone in his fully completed home. From the garage to the beach house to the tiniest plant, this was his creation. More than that, it was his gift: to his friends and to the world. He'd already decided that once the three of them were gone, the land would be returned to New Zealand as a preserve. The house could be converted into a museum; he could already picture lectures in the lounge and big kitchen, with visiting scientists working in the bedrooms.

But that was years away, decades, he hoped. In the meantime, he had a real home, his first since his childhood, and he intended to settle in.

He wandered through the rooms: from the hall and mudroom into the lounge, through an enormous kitchen, into the two guestrooms where he hoped Orlando and Viggo and Henry and all the others would one day stay. Then back to Elijah's room and then to Billy's, where he spent some time admiring the view.

Really, "room" was the wrong word for what he'd built for the three of them. They were bedrooms and bathrooms combined, of course, but living areas designed with their inhabitants in mind. Their windows and doors merged them with the outdoors, but they were screened and safe from the mosquitoes and sandflies.

Dom's pets had settled in happily, including a new member of his family, a tuatara, what used to be considered a living fossil. Geckos and skinks had already discovered the warm interstices of the walls, and he enjoyed watching them creep out into the sun, doing pushups and catching flying insects.

Finally, he rambled into his own room and stood at the doorway. He hoped this would be his last home. He wanted his parents to fly out to holiday with him. He wanted his nieces and nephews to think of it as their second home. And he wanted to feel settled here.

He decided to celebrate his first night at home with a good meal. He liked to cook; he'd been a sous chef briefly and still enjoyed prep work. He found it soothing, almost meditative. He'd started a kitchen garden, but it wasn't producing much more than lettuce yet, so he'd brought in salad stuff and trout caught the day before for his celebratory dinner. And a New Zealand white wine, of course.

When he sat down at the new dining room table, built in Dunedin of native pine, he was sweating a bit, but satisfied with his efforts. The trout was perfect, the salad crisp, the wine -- well, not everything was in his control. But he was happy.

He raised the glass, blown by Mary's friend. "East, west, home's best," he said, feeling silly, and drank.

Dom had long since established himself as a local and fallen into a routine. Once he'd moved into the house, he'd given up his room at Edison's hotel, although he still went in once or twice a week to lecture to the tourists. His mobile rarely worked once out of town, but rather than use the phone at Edison's he bought himself a satellite phone and internet connection. At night, he'd fall asleep listening to the endangered kiwi call; in the morning, to tomtits, wood pigeons, skylarks, sparrows, and starlings fussing in the bush. On the beach far below the house there stalked pied stilts and oystercatchers and banded dotterels. Dom discovered that the rainfall translated to six and a half metres a year; somehow, expressing it in inches hadn't seemed so startling. Even in summer, each morning started foggy and nearly half ended in rain, but there was still enough sun for the gardening he'd do.

His journal was filled now with sightings of birds and animals, and the discovery of new plants that appeared on the property. He started to think it should be a book, so others might share. He planted a Rata tree, and several fuchsia trees, and moved his desk so he could watch them through the seasons.

As Mary had predicted, word got out about his new home. First the local paper did an article about it; he stressed participation of Tom, Alistair, and Mary in the design, and all three wrote to thank him. Someone from Wellington flew into Te Anau and made the drive down to see him, but they wanted to focus on his relationship with Weta more than on the house, so he cut that interview short. The best article was in Science Digest; it illustrated the energy-saving advantages that he and Tom had built into the house and never once referred to him as "Merry" or a hobbit. He sent copies of that article to his family and friends.

By the time spring returned and his Rata tree was covered in unfurled blossoms, his book was a third written and he'd decided he needed a professional photographer to help. He could do the sketches, and Tom and Alistair had beautiful blueprints he could use, but he was a dick when it came to pictures, as he told Billy in an email. "Either I point the damn camera right at the sun, or else everything's in perfect shade and you can't see a thing. So much for point-and-click photography." Billy had sent him a new digital camera, but he wanted what he thought of as _real_ photography.

So Viggo came out, shaggy and grey-haired. Dom noticed with envy how thick his hair remained and thought briefly about hating him for it, but then Vig swept him up in a fierce hug and they kissed. "I have missed you," Viggo said. Dom could only nod; he discovered he was too choked up to speak. "Where can I put my stuff? I brought good wine, from Sonoma and Napa and France, and then show me this house of yours. Your project."

"This way," Dom finally managed, and led Viggo down the side of the hill and through the front garden.

"Holy shit," Viggo said. He stopped and turned in a circle. "Dom. Shit. I mean, I read the stuff you sent, your emails, but I never." He shook his head. "Shit."

Dom looked around them and saw with pleasure the garden through Viggo's eyes. It was dense and lush, the air practically steaming with humidity as the soil dried in the early spring sunshine. His Rata tree blazed as red as fire, and everywhere a thousand shades of green, both glossy and matte, glowed around them. Against the deep blue sky, it looked like some supersaturated film, not entirely real.

"You made this," Viggo said softly. "You did this. Dom, it's more beautiful than anything I've ever seen." He folded Dom to him, stroking his back, and then pulled away enough to kiss Dom tenderly. It had been many years since he'd been kissed by Viggo, since the Japanese premiere of King, he thought, and he'd forgotten what a powerful and sensual kiss he gave. When Viggo finally released him, he was nearly breathless. It had been almost a year since he and Orlando had made love; since then, there had been no one.

"Vig, I --" Viggo stopped him with another kiss, just as demanding as the first.

"Where am I sleeping?" he rumbled.

Dom hoisted one of Viggo's bags. "With me," he said, and they went in.

Viggo stayed nearly a month, and for the first time in years, Dom was sated by sex. He felt lush and full. They made love in bed, in the lounge, in the kitchen, in the swimming pool, on the beach, in the ocean. For a man in his sixties, Viggo remained a potent and eager lover, and Dom felt he was blossoming like the Rata tree in his company.

"Fuck me," he told Viggo one morning, rolling onto his stomach and presenting his arse, wiggling seductively. Viggo slapped him and then knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, putting his face into Dom's arse, licking and sucking and tongue-fucking him until he was shivering and thrusting into a pillow. When Viggo finally entered him, Dom thought he would burst with love and gratitude for his friend. He'd had no idea how lonely he was.

Viggo pulled Dom back and up, so they were both kneeling on the bed and he was almost lying in Viggo's arms, collapsed against him, riding his prick. He let Viggo do the work, moving into Dom firmly whilst stroking his chest and thighs and prick. Dom rarely came when penetrated, but that morning he was as hard as an iron bar and Viggo's powerful hand on him brought him to a sudden and fierce climax.

As he recovered himself, feeling Viggo still working deep in his arse, groaning into his ear, Dom was already mourning Viggo's departure in three days. His body already ached to be touched, his lips to be kissed. He wanted someone to talk to, who would really hear what he said and have something to say back to him. Viggo continued to thrust, moving Dom like the ocean, whilst sliding his hand through the semen on Dom's belly, threading his fingers in Dom's pubic hair, kissing and sucking Dom's neck and shoulders until at last he, too, came, crying out Dom's name in the sweet sunlight of that morning.

They lay together, Dom stroking Viggo's face. At last, Dom said, "The pictures are fantastic, you know."

Viggo nodded. "Something about this place inspired me. I think they're some of my best work."

"No flashes of light. No smeary images. No one will believe you took them."

Viggo scowled, and rolled onto his back. "You smoke?"

Dom scrabbled in the drawer of a bedside table. "Lij's cloves. He left a pack. Every now and then, it just tastes right." He lit one, took a deep inhalation, and passed it to Viggo. Their fingers entwined, and Viggo drew Dom's hand to his mouth, kissing and gently biting the fingertips, before sucking on the cigarette. "Bless Lij," he murmured, closing his eyes.

Dom took the cigarette from him, taking another drag before stubbing it out. Viggo was asleep. He stretched out on his side to watch. Three more days and he'd be alone again. He needed to memorize this moment.

It was hot when Viggo left, nearly thirty degrees, and Dom was sweating as he waved goodbye. "I'll come back," Viggo promised him. "If you ask me, I'll come back."

"I don't want to have to ask you," Dom whispered to him, kissing him tenderly. "That's why I built this place. It's your home. You have to come home."

"Then I'll be back," Viggo said. "When I can."

"Don't call. Just be here, okay? That's what I want, just to find you here."

"Fuck, you've grown up," Viggo said staring at him. "I was afraid -- well, it's shit, but you're a beautiful man, Dominic." They kissed again. "Look for me."

"I'll be right here."

Dom cried some as he watched Viggo's rental disappear, and the days after he left seemed especially long and empty. But he returned to his book, and spent a fortune on a call to Billy, confessing some of what had happened.

Billy was unusually silent, though. "You okay?" Dom asked him, a little anxiously. He wished he could see Billy's face. "Play going strong?"

"Too fuckin' strong," Billy said. "It's hard to be fresh when the words come out automatically, y'know? I need a break."

Dom wanted to say: Then come here. Come home. But he said, "I remember. But ya gotta work when there's work, Bill, you know that."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. No tellin' when the next one'll come along, and it'll probably be shite."

"Probably," Dom agreed, and they turned the subject to Viggo's son Henry, now a musician, and to the news that Orlando and Jennifer were breaking up yet again.

Dom half expected Orlando to show up on his doorstep again, but the next visitor was a surprise: Ian, en route to Australia for a stage play. "My dear boy," he said, hobbling down the path, wielding his cane like Gandalf's staff. "Look what you have done!"

"Like it?"

"Oh, Dominic." As Viggo had done before, Ian turned in a circle. "I've developed macular degeneration," he announced when he faced Dom again. "Particularly in my left eye, so I only have peripheral vision there. But even in my deteriorated state, I can see the marvel you have wrought here. My boy, this is fine, fine work. A legacy that will live long after all of us have sailed West."

Dom hugged him. "Ta, Ian," he said as carelessly as he might have twenty years ago, but his voice was thick with emotion. "Let's get you settled then."

He carried Ian's bags into one of the guest rooms. "You'll be initiating this place. Or inaugurating. Whatever, you're first."

"It's my privilege," Ian said. The room Dom had chosen for him was full of shades of blue, something Mary had come up with after studying Elijah's eyes. "It's like being underwater," Ian said, looking around him in approval. "Very soothing. Just what I need."

"How long can you stay?"

"How long may I?"

Dom kissed Ian's powder-soft jowl. "As long as you want. Forever."

"Alas. I have a commitment in Sydney. But I shall stay until then."

He stayed just over two weeks, and again, Dom relished the company. He thought about coming to Ian in the night, but it felt too presumptuous, as if he would be giving Ian a gift. Though they kissed and hugged and even held hands when Dom led Ian down to the beach, their relationship lacked the sexual flash that he'd felt with Orlando and Viggo.

But for conversation there were few better than Ian, and for silence, too. They could sit drinking their tea without feeling a need to speak, silently passing sections of the paper back and forth. Dom knew he was comfortable with Ian when he leaned to one side and farted without thinking. Looking up at Ian, he felt his face redden, but Ian only smirked at him. "You hobbits suffer from wind more than any other creature in Middle-Earth, I do believe."

"Well, apart from dwarves," Dom felt compelled to say, and that was it.

One evening, sharing a bottle of whiskey that Ian had brought with him, sitting by the swimming pool, Ian asked, "Why do you live alone?"

"Why do you?" Dom asked quickly, a bit offended.

"Because I cannot find someone who will stay with me."

Dom was shattered by the answer, and ashamed that he'd provoked it. "I'm sorry," he muttered, looking into his glass.

"No, I am. It's just that -- Dom, I thought you, out of everyone, would be married, with an enormous family. Instead, you live in splendid isolation, in one of the most beautiful homes I've ever seen, in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Why is that?"

Dom shrugged. What could he say? At last, he answered, "I wonder that myself, Ian. I get lonely --" he stopped and took a deep breath; that had been a difficult admission. "I get lonely, and I do want someone, but. Like you said. Can't seem to find anyone. Who. You know, who wants to stay."

Ian didn't answer, and when Dom finally looked up at him, he saw tears in Ian's eyes. "Are we two of a kind, Dominic?"

Dom smiled sadly. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather be like."

"Oh, no," Ian breathed. "No. I don't wish that for you. You're much loved, you know. We email each other, meet for drinks in the airport lounge, and always we speak of you."

"But none of you are here."

"No. Not here." Ian leaned forward and kissed Dom, a dry little kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Dear boy," he said again. Dom leaned forward to kiss him back, but Ian gently stopped him. "It's too late for me, Dom. Don't wait too long, or it'll be too late for you."

Ian's departure was harder to bear in some ways than Viggo's, because he left such disquieting thoughts with Dom. Dom had admitted, out loud and to another human being, how lonely he'd become. All his focus for the last two years had been on finding and building this place, on restoring the native plants, on creating something beautiful and lasting. And he'd succeeded, far beyond any dream he'd had when a boy in New Zealand for the first time, falling in love and vowing to return.

He wandered through the empty house, straightening cushions, adjusting the fall of a curtain, watching the progression of the sun across the tiled floor. He swam and surfed. He gardened and observed and wrote. He went to town three times a week, for supplies and a meal and a bit of conversation. He emailed dozens of people a week, called his parents twice a month, gave another interview, this time to an Australian ecologist writing for a respected journal, and continued to study the slow changes in his garden, recording them in the suede-leather journal that Elijah had given him almost two years ago.

That journal had grown tender with age and use. He carried it into the garden to record his successes and failures; to sketch ideas and results; to jot lists of needs. He noted who had visited him and when, and what they'd done. In the journal, Viggo had drawn a picture of Dom crouched in the garden, lining a path with white stones; he especially treasured that. In the evenings, he liked to sit watching the sunset and flip through the journal, wondering how the remaining pages would be filled.

The next to turn up was Sean Astin. Dom drove into Te Anau to meet Sean there, and they spent a few days sightseeing and re-visiting places they'd been decades before. "Remember this?" Sean kept saying. "Remember when Elijah caught Viggo with that snowball? Remember?"

Dom remembered; he remembered it all. "Good times," he'd say.

They finally drove home. Sean was astounded by the magnitude of the work Dom had done. "I had no idea," he kept saying. "Not a fucking clue. I see Lij a fair bit, but I just didn't get it."

Dom put Sean in the same guest room that Ian had stayed in, the blue one; Sean fell asleep and didn't wake until the following afternoon.

"You okay?" Dom asked him when he appeared in the kitchen. He held out a mug of coffee. Sean started to cry. Dom hastily set down the mug and wrapped Sean in his arms. "Hey," he whispered, alarmed. Sean hadn't given him a clue that anything was wrong whilst they'd been in Te Anau.

He settled Sean in a chair and brought him the coffee, plus a box of tissues. When Sean began to snuffle rather than sob, Dom sat down next to him and watched him expectantly. "Sorry," Sean finally said, wiping his face and blowing his nose. "Really sorry."

"No, hey. That's what I'm here for."

"To be cried on? Jesus." He blew one final loud blast. "Thank you. Really, thank you." He took a sip of the coffee.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?"

"It's been really hard," Sean said, staring into his mug. "Things are a little rough at home. Not so much with Chris, but Lizzie. She's a real handful. She moved back in a couple months ago and we've been having some real fights." He looked at Dom. "I think she's bipolar, like my mom."

"Oh, Sean. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well. Can't get any help for her, 'cause she doesn't think anything's wrong. It's always somebody else's fault, you know? Usually mine."

"It's not, you know. Anymore than your mum was your fault."

"I know." He sniffled again. "I really do know. Been seeing a therapist for months. It's just hard. Hard work."

"I'm really glad you came out here, Sean. Stay as long as you want. Get rested, get your head straight."

"Bless you, Dom." Sean leaned over to kiss Dom on the cheek, hesitated, and then kissed his mouth. Dom relaxed into the kiss; it had been a long time since Viggo, and his body ached for contact. Sean set down the mug and put his arms around Dom, scooting his chair forward until their knees bumped.

"Chris?" Dom whispered.

"Shh," Sean said. "I just hoped --"

Dom kissed him again, more firmly, and Sean pulled him into his lap, so he straddled Sean's hips. Beneath him, he felt Sean begin to rise. "Stay with me," he said between kisses. "Stay with me, Sean."

They made out like kids in the kitchen, both men getting more and more excited, until Sean's stomach growled. He sighed and rested his head against Dom's shoulder. "You make me feel twenty."

"You make me feel horny."

They laughed, and Dom fixed a late breakfast, sharing touches and kisses.

After the kitchen was tidy, Dom took Sean's hand again. "You serious about this? It's been a long time, Seannie."

Sean kissed him tenderly, mouthing Dom's lips and tasting his tongue. "Very sure. Desperately sure." Dom led him to the blue room; he'd never made love in there and thought it was time to christen it.

Sean in bed was a revelation to Dom. Although they'd always been close, hugging and kissing in friendship and love, they'd never made love. Dom was excited to see his friend like this -- demanding and forceful. Sean knew what he wanted, and he pushed Dom into the bed, kissing him, stroking his body, reaching under his clothes, undoing his zip and boldly reaching into Dom's pants. "You feel so good," he murmured. "So fucking good."

Dom decided to let Sean lead, since he clearly knew what he wanted; besides, he wasn't sure he had a choice. And Sean felt so good: the pressure of his body on Dom's, his knowledgeable hands, his white-hot kisses. He pulled Dom's prick out and kissed it, licked it, and began sucking it without hesitation. Dom's questions fled at the sensation of Sean's mouth on him, and he gave himself over to a lengthy and thorough blowjob.

"Where the fuck did you learn to do that?" he gasped when Sean had swallowed him dry. Sean rested his chin on Dom's left hip, gazing solemnly at him but remained silent. Dom ran his fingers through Sean's hair, petting him gently. "Elijah," Dom said, not a guess. Sean nodded. "Tell him he's a good teacher."

Sean kissed Dom's belly, and then crawled up to kiss his mouth. He was still dressed, but Dom could feel his prick hard and heavy against Dom's thigh. "Fuck me," Sean whispered to him, licking his ear. "Dom, please, fuck me."

"Christ, Sean," he groaned, nearly in pain at the thought. "I need a minute or two."

"Your fingers, your mouth, anything . . ."

Dom sat up and began pulling Sean's clothes off, determined to make him feel as good as he'd made Dom feel. He licked a stripe down Sean's arse, remembering Viggo doing the same to him and how marvelous it had felt. He pushed at the back of Sean's thighs so he rose slightly, and mouthed his balls and the soft skin between his balls and hole. He tasted warm, a little sweaty, and intensely like Sean.

When Sean was crying out and pushing fiercely into the bedspread, Dom rolled onto his back and crawled under him, so he could take Sean into his mouth and suck his prick, keeping two fingers in Sean's loose and spit-wet arsehole, finger-fucking him as he came down Dom's throat.

"Fucking Christ," Sean said when he'd recovered a bit. "Let's do that again."

"Bloody hell," Dom said, raising onto his elbows to stare at him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Just a horny old man," Sean said, pushing him back down into the bed to kiss again. "Lij is with Billy now, you know, so I've been a little lonely."

Dom felt his stomach roll over, and he gently pushed Sean away. "Lij is what?"

"You know, after Ali left Bill." Sean stared at Dom. "You didn't know? But you and Bill -- I thought. Jesus."

He sat up and folded his legs, then took Dom's hands. "Honey, I was sure you knew. I never would have said anything. Billy must want to tell you in his own way."

"He's with Lij?"

"Well, he was pretty busted up. We talked a lot, the three of us, and then Lij flew out to Glasgow to help him pack up. They're in London now, but Billy's play is moving to New York, so they're moving there next."

Dom felt sick and dizzy; he put his hand over his eyes. "That's why they didn't come out? They don't --" He stopped, unable to say what he feared.

Sean lay next to him and wrapped his arms around him. "They love you, Dom; they adore you. It's just that you're way out here, and they're there. Billy was heartbroken. You know how much he loved Ali. I went out for a while, too, and Viggo. Ian. Sean Bean. He was devastated. I'm sure he wanted to tell you. He will tell you." He snuggled against Dom. "Don't worry, honey. You own Billy's heart like no one else ever could."

But Dom wasn't sure. He sighed, kissed Sean's ear, and sighed again. Sean was probably right, but the news still hurt, that Billy hadn't called him the minute it happened. Fuck, but it hurt. He'd have to get used to it, though. He'd chosen to move literally half-way around the world from Bill; of course he'd be the last to know.

"Gotta piss," he told Sean, but he went to his own room for a little privacy. He needed to get used to this. He needed to mourn.

Typical Sean wouldn't let him be, though, and within fifteen minutes Dom was being held again by him. "Won't let you go," Sean said. "I think I'll stay here for a while."

And he did. He stayed a long time, nearly two months. Dom grew used to the idea of Billy and Elijah, and he grew used to Sean's presence in his life. They had always worked together well, and now they lived together well. Dom still called Billy and Elijah twice a month, but he never mentioned Ali, nor did they. Sean listened in, usually taking over the conversation with Elijah, but he was unusually discreet, at least in front of Dom. For all he knew, Sean called the boys when Dom wasn't around, although he doubted it.

It did feel wonderful to have another person in bed with him, to laugh with, to cook for, to love. When the day came for Sean to return home, Dom hiked down to the beach to be alone. Silly, he thought, kicking at the stones, watching the waves wash up and back. He'd be really alone in just a few hours. But he needed to prepare. Saying goodbye never got easier, only harder and harder.

Of course, Sean followed him down, tromping noisily across the shingle. "You gonna say bye?"

"Course I was," Dom said, turning to face him. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful day, and Sean practically glowed in the sunshine. He came straight to Dom and hugged him fiercely.

"I will miss you so fucking much," he said into Dom's ear. "I'll miss everything about this place."

They kissed, two middle-aged men who'd known each other for nearly half their lives. "I'll miss you, too," Dom admitted, stroking Sean's arms. "Thank you for coming out."

"I'll be back, you know."

"I know."

They walked the beach for a while, Sean picking and choosing rocks and shells to take home, exchanging kisses and gropes until it was time. Dom had wanted to drive him back into Te Anau, but Sean had insisted on taking the bus, so Dom drove him into town. They had lunch, Sean packing leftovers, and then stood waiting for the bus to appear.

"Is it okay to kiss you here?" Sean asked him. Dom kissed him in response. "Guess so." He kissed Dom back quite passionately; when they broke, a small crowd had gathered and applauded.

"You hobbits," Edison said, smiling at them. "Here you go, Mister Astin. My wife put together a package for you, home-made goodies to keep you fed on that long trip."

"Thank you!" Sean exclaimed, smiling at Dom. "I don't know what to say."

"You've been good for Mister Monaghan," Edison said. "Haven't seen him looking so fine in a while. Reckon he'll miss you."

"That I will," Dom said. "So he has to come back soon."

Only three people plus the driver were on the bus, but one woman began to look a bit anxious, so Sean handed his bags to the driver. "Gotta go," he whispered to Dom.

Dom flattened himself against Sean, hanging on. He couldn't even say goodbye. They separated slowly, Sean clinging to Dom's hands, and then he was gone.

"Sorry," Edison said, startling Dom. They watched the bus grumble away. "He's a nice bloke."

"Yeah. He is."

Summer slowly returned, the temperatures rising despite the high winds and massive rainfall. Dom was going into his third year in Fiordland. The landscaping was maturing; some plants had died, others had flourished. He'd begun to travel around the west coast, researching the flora. Alistair traveled with him occasionally, and his oldest daughter who was now studying botany at Massey. He and Dom gave occasional talks to visiting scholars, some coming from as far away as England and the States.

They went to Wellington to give a talk at the university, and Dom stayed on to see Pete and Fran. Their kids were grown up; Billy was living in the States, producing videos for large corporations, but Katie was still at university. She'd come to Dom and Alistair's talk, in fact, and had been impressed.

"Honestly, you make me want to switch courses."

Dom smiled at her enthusiasm. "Don't do that," he said. "I think theatre arts is right for you."

"You're bossy enough to be a director," Pete said, and they laughed, even Katie.

"Well, I know who she takes after," Philippa said. "Darling Dom, I have missed you." She half-stood and leaned across the table to kiss him. "But why did you move so far away?"

"Why don't you come out and see?" he suggested, smiling at her. "You can leave your precious theatre for a long weekend, couldn't you?"

"Let's all go," Katie said excitedly. "I'd love to see the work you're doing. It was so cool when you had that programme on the telly; all my friends watched it."

Dom felt a flush of pleasure surge through him. "All the cool kids watched, eh?" he said, and she lightly thumped his shoulder. "Thank you, Katie. I loved it."

"You were brilliant," Pete said. "Saw around the third season you became producer and writer."

"I did. Learned from the best, I did." He toasted Pete with his beer. "Seriously, I learned so much from you whilst working on Rings. Amateur Naturalist was a terrific experience, the whole thing. Even if it did get a bit lonely at times. Just me and the boys, in fuckin' El Obeid, or Monzhouli, or Killinek Island. Either boiling or freezing our balls off. Excuse me," he said to Katie, who waved his apology away.

"I'd love to do that," she said, her eyes glowing. "I wish I'd been older; I bet you would've given me a job."

The others laughed, and Dom smiled, too, but his sympathies were with Katie. She was ready to leave university and get out into the world; he could only admire that from his position at the other end of the journey. He wouldn't trade a minute of his adventures filming The Amateur Naturalist, but the years doing it had changed him profoundly, leaving him alone and a little lonely.

When he returned from his trip to Wellington, he called his parents and invited them out. "For the holidays," he said, "and as long as you want." He flew to Auckland to meet them and spent a few days there, letting them acclimate, before returning to Wellington where they were greeted by Fran and Pete.

At last, the three of them flew into Te Anau, to the little airport where Dom had left his car, and he drove them past the lakes and out to his home. He was anxious for them to see it; if anything had happened to one of them before they'd seen what he'd created, he would have been heartbroken. It was with considerable pride that he helped his mum down the path from the garage to the house.

"Oh, Dominic," she breathed, staring in awe. His dad turned in a circle, smiling to himself.

"Knew you had this in you," he finally said. "Lovely work, son. A gift to the world."

Dom's throat closed up a bit in pleasure at the praise, and he kissed them both. "Come in," he was finally able to say. "You don't ever have to leave, you know. You've got your own room." He put them in the grey room, its first inhabitants. Whilst they settled, he fixed drinks using mint from the garden, and they sat by the pool in the back garden where they were protected from the sandflies, watching the clouds scud over the ocean below.

"How's the book?" his dad asked.

"Finished. Just polishing it up a bit, choosing which photos to use. It'll be out by May."

"We're so proud of you," his mum said, and Dom saw she had tears in her eyes. "I wish you had someone with you, that's all you're lacking."

Dom thought so, too, but he shrugged. "Just never found the right person, I guess," he said. His parents looked sadly at him, and he thought they didn't really believe him, but then his dad asked him how the light-sensitive windows on the west side of the house worked and he launched with some relief into a description of their energy-saving qualities.

He loved having his parents with him, too, and they seemed to love being here with him. He and his mother cooked elaborate meals; he and his father cleaned up. They both loved to garden, so he put them to work weeding the vegetable garden. He showed them the pile of broken tile and brick that he'd saved from construction. "I was thinking about making a mosaic or fountain or something," he said as they stared down at it.

His mother knelt to pick up a piece, rubbing it clean with her thumb. "These would clean up beautifully," she said. "Why not both? Build a little fountain or waterfall thingy, and plaster these around it in some design. This colour is especially beautiful." She pointed at another piece, tile from Elijah's bathroom that had broken; it was the exact colour of his eyes.

"I saw on one of those do-it-yourself telly programmes how to build an easy fountain," Austen said. "We could put it together in a day or two. Does the little town have a hardware store? Or would we have to go into Te Anau?"

"Probably Te Anau," Dom said, nodding. "Where would you put it?"

They turned and looked out over the garden. "What about next to the path down to the beach?" Aureen suggested. "Just to the left, where the railings are."

"Wind would blow it back into our faces," Dom pointed out. "But it would look nice there."

"Don't make it a big fountain," his dad said. "More like different levels, dripping down into each other and then circulating back up. See --" He picked up two flat pottery saucers and held them horizontally parallel to each other. "The higher one would get full and then drip into the lower one. Have several levels."

Dom nodded again. "And put the mosaic around the edges?"

"Yes, yes," Aureen said, digging through the broken stuff.

"Here, don't cut yourself, Mum," Dom said.

"Let's sort out which pieces to use. That might give us ideas for the fountain itself."

Austen hitched his trousers and carefully knelt beside his wife. Dom watched them with tremendous affection as they dug through the detritis, looking to build him something beautiful. He sat next to them and began to help.

The project took them longer than the two days Austen had guessed, but they enjoyed it tremendously, and when they finally switched on the little fountain, the bubbling noise it made was music to Dom's ears. "And it's a windy day, too," his dad said. "Not a splash."

One night, a few weeks into his parents' stay, he woke and couldn't get back to sleep. He decided a cup of tea would do nicely, and wandered down the hall into the kitchen. On a whim, whilst the kettle was heating, he went down to his parents' room, half-hoping a light would be on so he could have some company. And indeed, it soon became apparent they were still awake, but the noises he heard from behind the closed door made him blush and hurry back into the kitchen.

He found he couldn't stop smiling, imagining his parents, at their age, still in love with each other, still attracted to each other. Always a bit much, thinking of one's parents doing _that_, but still kind of reassuring. He hoped to live a good long life. Maybe he'd have someone to make love to when he was his dad's age, too. He certainly hoped so.

It was this place, he thought, waiting for his tea to steep. The land, the plants, the animals, the sky, the water, the air itself -- the fecundity of this place seemed to seep right into his visitors, and certainly into him.

Too bad he didn't have someone to share the experience with.

Christmas was unusually hot, nearly thirty-five degrees, but the evenings cooled off, and there were showers each morning and often in the afternoon. His mum helped in the vegetable garden whilst his dad read the manuscript, but mostly they relaxed. On Christmas Day they called Matt, and had a long and expensive laughter-filled conversation. Matt, too, promised to come out with his wife.

Viggo called, then Henry, and then Sean and Christine, Pete and Fran, of course, and Ian, who was in Mexico filming, and to Dom's surprise, Sean Bean, who promised to visit someday.

Billy and Elijah called, too, and after they'd greeted Austen and Aureen, Dom carried the cordless into his bedroom for a long visit. He waited for Billy to tell him what had happened, but he only talked about living in New York, eating bagels, and whether he should wear a toupee for the play.

Dom thought about asking them outright: are you together? Are you a couple? But he couldn't find the courage because he didn't want to hear the answer. Let them keep their secrets, he thought, listening to Elijah discuss the problems with a band he'd been working with. They called, they emailed, they loved him. Surely, he told himself, that was all that mattered.

But that night, alone in his big bed, he masturbated to the image of Billy and Elijah together, imagining what they might do. He wanted them both; he missed them as if missing limbs, but there was nothing he could do but touch himself and pretend that was Billy's hand on his prick, Elijah's finger in his arse. When he came, he found he was crying a little, wishing he could kiss them goodnight and sleep curled between them.

Dom and his parents spent the New Year in Te Anau, at a bed and breakfast he was particularly fond of. The entire town seemed to remember him from Rings; he was, as his dad said too often, treated like royalty. It had cooled off from Christmas and one night they woke up to find snow on the ground, not unheard of but still surprising for this time of year.

Te Anau had a weekly farmers market that they went to. Dom got caught up with some fans, but his parents slipped away to enjoy the flowers and produce. When they finally met up again, his mother was carrying a small box. "Here, darling. For your garden."

He peeked inside. "You bought me a turtle? Mum, that's just cruel."

"Dominic! It would have been cruel to leave it there. You'll take proper care of it. Look, someone's tried to carve initials into the shell."

He peered more closely and saw it was true. He groaned. "Mum, you never --"

"Of course I didn't! I would never do such a thing." The initials, though faint, seemed to be DM. "See what I mean? I couldn't possibly have left it there."

"Don't be mean to your mum, now," Austen said. "It was a kindly impulse."

"You're right." He kissed his mother, taking the box from her. "I guess he can live out by the fountain. I'll have to research him, see what he eats." He looked more closely at the turtle, then gently picked it up and turned it over. "Shit. It's not even from New Zealand. I think this is an American red-bellied turtle."

"Really? All the way from the States? How on earth did it get here?"

"Well, we could ask whoever you bought it from."

"I did, but he didn't know. Said he bought it from someone in Manapouri."

Shit, Dom thought, staring at it. Poor thing. How the hell had it managed to get so many thousands of miles from home? "I'm pretty sure they're endangered," he said. "Great. The amateur naturalist is harbouring a non-native, endangered species."

His dad slapped his shoulder firmly. "Just what you're supposed to do, son. Take good care of it. Wonder what it eats?"

Dom was wondering the same thing. Thank God for the internet, since he was pretty sure Te Anau didn't have much in the way of pet shops.

"What are you going to name it?" Aureen asked him.

"Any suggestions?"

All three stared at the turtle. At last, his mum said, "Well, maybe it'll suggest something to us." They returned to the bed and breakfast, where the owners gave him lettuce leaves and a little bowl for water, in the hopes the turtle might like that, but Dom was pretty sure they were carnivores, so he found a fish shop and bought prawns as well.

The turtle never did suggest a name to them, so he remained Turtle. When Elijah learned about it, he suggested Flo, "like in the Turtles, you remember?" but Dom wasn't about to name a turtle Flo.

"Just 'Turtle,'" he said firmly, and rejoiced in Billy's laughter, even if it came from half a world away.

The months passed. He sent the manuscript to his agent, the editor sent the proofs that he and his parents went over carefully and returned, and eventually the book itself appeared. He traveled a bit to publicize it, but with his folks in New Zealand, he went no further than Australia. In Melbourne, he was interviewed by a nice chap from the BBC who compared him to David Attenborough, thereby satisfying a longstanding desire of Dom's. Someone from America's Morning Edition and a correspondent from the Today Show interviewed separately him in Sydney, and then he flew home, anxious to return.

His parents found the winter months too dreary, and in June they finally left. Once again, he drove the high mountain road into Te Anau to wave goodbye to people he loved. At those moments, he wondered at the wisdom of his course. Did he really belong so far away from everyone he loved? He had resigned himself to living alone, but that didn't mean he had to be so far from all his friends and family.

He went home in a sombre mood; the weather encouraged melancholy, too, for they were having the warmest and wettest winter since he'd been there. The tree-ferns loved it, but he was stuck indoors for days on end. There were two separate mudslides on the road to town, so for a week, he was even more isolated. He should get a dog, he decided, or a cat; something domestic who would be happy to share living space with him.

He decided to re-paint the hallway leading to his, Elijah's, and Billy's rooms. It was fine, but a bit bland, he thought. He imagined stencils of leaves just below waist height. He read up a bit on it, and talked to Tom.

"I've seen that done," Tom said, pouring a tot of whiskey into their coffee. They were in his home office on a dreary day; it had rained every day for the last two months, sometimes quiet heavily. "There's a woman in Manapouri who does nice work. Would you like me to call her?"

"Well, I fancy myself a bit of an artist," Dom said, sipping gratefully at the hot coffee. "I thought I'd do it myself."

"Of course you could, and you _are_ an artist. But she could get you started, tell you what paint to use, which brushes. The practical stuff, so you wouldn't have to reinvent the wheel."

Dom shrugged. "Sure, if you think she'd be interested in a small project like this. Just as an advisor."

"I'm sure she would. Your place is world-famous, y'know. She'd love to see it."

Dom grew suspicious. "You've talked about this with her already?"

"Well, not about this, of course, but really, Dom. You must know we're all interested in what you do out there. I'll tell you what. Let me invite her to lunch, and you come, too. You can talk and if you like her ideas, you can drive her out, show her the place. Probably one afternoon would be all you need."

Dom agreed, and the next week he drove back into town for lunch with Tom, his partner Angus, and the interior design person from Manapouri, whose name turned out to be Abigail.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, shaking her hand. She was about his age, he guessed. He liked her immediately when he saw paint under her fingernails.

"Oh, the pleasure is mine," she said, smiling at him. She had a tiny gap between her top front teeth, not as wide as Elijah's but enough that he was reminded of his friend. "Tom's been telling me about your project for two years now. A wonderful gift to New Zealand."

The lunch was fun. Dom liked Tom a great deal; although he didn't know his partner Angus very well. He was a quiet man who watched more than he spoke. But Abigail, once she recovered from the excitement of meeting a celebrity, was easy to talk to, and seemed full of ideas for the hallway.

"I think stenciling sounds right, for what you describe. But I think you might want to use a sponge, rather than a brush. It would give a softer, more natural look. What colour is the base paint?"

"Come out and look," Dom said, surprising himself. He wanted to show off to her. "Not just the hallway, but the house. Tom did a brilliant job. Although sometimes I have some trouble with the hot water."

"I'll come out and look at it next week," Tom said.

"Why not today?"

"I have another appointment this afternoon. Besides, you'll be busy with Abigail. I promise not to forget. Don't want you to have to go without water hot."

Dom smiled at the allusion to the baths at Crickhollow. For the first time, he wondered about a name for the place. That's what he always called it, to himself and others: my place. Crickhollow was a nice name. Bag End? Buckland?

"What?" Abigail asked him gently.

He shook his head. "Just thinking. Next week, Tom. I'll fix you lunch, something from the garden."

Abigail left her little car at Tom's and Dom drove her out. "I have to come back to do some shopping anyway," he assured her. "Not a problem at all." Also, he wanted to be with her when she first saw the place. "Here we are," he said, pausing before turning into the drive.

"But there's nothing to see."

"That was the idea -- it's invisible from the road. I try to live lightly on the land." He turned and drove into the garage. There was room for four cars, one for each of the owners plus a guest, but of course, neither Billy nor Elijah had a car in New Zealand; they hadn't even seen the garage yet. Shaking off that dismal thought, Dom led her around the garage and then stopped.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Mister Monaghan, this is stunning. It's like -- it's like a jeweled tapestry."

"Call me Dom," he said, beaming. The garden and house did glow, even in the gloomy light of winter. The lowering clouds promised more rain and probably snow, but for the moment they were able to stand and look their fill.

"Come on," he finally said. "Let's walk around and I'll show you the gardens before it rains, then we'll look at the house."

He found it an enormous pleasure to show the place to Abigail; it wasn't just that she was impressed by his hard work and inventiveness, but that she saw it with an artist's eye. Like Viggo had, she saw how carefully he'd planted the shrubs, so the colours faded into each other, or dramatically popped out in contrast. "This must be lovely in the spring," she said, pointing at his Rata tree.

"I actually arranged my room just so I could see it better," he admitted.

Finally, he led her into the house, entering from the kitchen doors. He started water for tea and then showed her the guest rooms. "After tea, I'll show you the rest," he said, and they sat at the kitchen table, looking out over the gardens. From his chair, he could see the fountain he'd built with his parents, as well as the vegetable garden, now looking sad and battered.

Eventually she set down her cup and said, "Let's see this hallway of yours."

He walked her through the kitchen and dining room, pointing out the lounge, and then stopped, letting her look up the long curving hall. She stared at it for a time, tilting her head. He watched her. He hadn't been with a woman in a long time, and never with a woman her age. His age. Her skin looked soft, with fine lines around her throat and eyes, and smile lines around her mouth, just like Billy. Beneath her blouse, he could see the outline of a lacy bra, and when she had bent forward at the table to reach for the sugar, he'd seen her fine cleavage.

Hesitantly, he put his hand on her waist. "What do you think?" he asked.

She looked at him -- she was almost exactly his height -- and he discovered she had warm brown eyes like Orlando. "I think you should wind the leaves over the tops of the doors," she said, and pointed, but she didn't move away from him. "I'll sketch something out for you, if you like."

"I would like that very much."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then she looked away. Dom dropped his hand. "I'm a, well, I'm a bit uncomfortable," he finally said. "I'm very attracted to you, Abigail, but I haven't been with anyone for a long time. Kind of got out of practice, y'know."

She smiled at him, and gently placed her hand on his face, lightly stroking his beard with her thumb. "I've been alone for a while myself. My husband left me a few months ago. He never liked small towns, and I guess I was too small-town for him."

Dom knew he should say, "I like small-town girls" or "there's nothing small town about _you_," but it seemed too obvious, and he was too uncomfortable. He couldn't help but lean into her touch, though, as he tried to remember the last time someone had touched him so kindly. Had it really been when Sean Astin had visited?

"You look so sad," she whispered. "Dominic, are you sad?"

"A wee bit," he said, and kissed her hand. She smiled at him and kissed his cheek, then his mouth. He made a small sound and blushed, but opened his mouth to her, tasting the tea they'd had. She sighed, and he put his arms around her, pulling her to him so he could kiss her harder and more thoroughly. He wondered if Tom had set them up, but decided it didn't matter. What mattered was how brilliant she felt against him, her breasts warm and soft where they pressed into his chest. He cautiously slid one hand down, to the small of her back, where he hesitated. She pulled back, smiling at him, and tilted her pelvis into him. His prick was hardening rapidly and she sort of shimmied against it. His hand dropped lower and cupped her arse, a nice round one, very feminine.

"Oh, Abigail, I like this," he said, kissing her.

She laughed. "Then let's not stop for a while," she said. "Will you show me your bedroom, Dominic?"

He led her to the end of the hall, to his room. The double-doors were always open, and he'd left the light by his bed on, so the room gleamed in the dreary daylight that filled the room. Dom realized his bed was enormous; it was probably the biggest bed in the southern hemisphere. He was embarrassed and uncomfortable, but Abigail hesitated for only a second, and then continued toward it.

When she stood by the side of the bed, she turned and faced him. He saw she was pink in the face, so a little embarrassed as well, which somehow made him feel better. He swallowed, walked to her, and embraced her, then ran his hands up and down her body. "I'd really like to do this," he whispered, kissing her ear. "But only if you want to, too."

She kissed him back. "I certainly do," she said emphatically. "My husband left me. I'm forty-two years old and my husband left me ten months ago. To have another man look at me, to have _you_ look at me, touch me -- this is the most exciting moment in my life. Of course I want to do this." She kissed him again. "Please, Dom."

With that, he shook off all uncertainty. He'd been so alone, and it seemed as though the man he wanted had left him, too. He took a deep breath and undid the top button of her blouse, bending down to kiss the swell of her breast. The scent of her perfume rose sweetly to him, and he sighed, then nuzzled deeper into her body, continuing to unbutton her blouse, sliding the silky material off her shoulders; she shook it off onto the bed behind her.

Her bra was as lacy as he'd imagined, and he ran his fingers lightly across the top of it. "Beautiful," he murmured. The cups linked together in the front, so he twisted the hook. She put her hands on his for a moment, and he saw she had blushed from her face down to her throat. "You're beautiful," he clarified, and she drew the bra away from her. He kissed his way to a nipple, which tightened under his attention, and she groaned and cupped his head to her. He sucked harder, moving one hand down to lightly touch her arse through the material of her trousers. She felt wonderful -- soft and tender, frighteningly tender. Much different than holding Viggo or Sean.

He gently lay her on the bed, stroking her body, trying to convey with touch how desirable he found her, how much he wanted this. He'd always prided himself on his skills, but somehow this seemed different. More potential for awkwardness and embarrassment, more risk to his self-esteem if he didn't please her. His own body was responding brilliantly to the stimulation; he was only forty-nine, after all, barely entering middle-aged, and although he'd slowed down a little, surely that was a good thing.

Maybe because so many of his lovers had been men, or maybe because he loved oral sex so much, he'd never felt a rush to intercourse. Instead, he paid attention to her breasts, remembering to avoid her belly -- so many women were self-conscious about their soft tummies, although he loved how different they felt from a man's -- and to her thighs, slowly licking his way into her. Her scent was rich and she trembled when he pressed his nose into her pubic hair and then delicately tongued her. "Oh my fucking God," she said. "My husband hates that." He smiled; what an idiot her husband was.

His face and beard were wet shortly, and she wrapped one leg over his shoulder, crying out her pleasure. She slid one hand into her cleft, touching herself, and he imitated the movements with his tongue and lips until she froze, then gasped and shuddered. After she'd caught her breath, she sat up on her elbows to stare at him, her eyes a little wild. "I never -- not that way before. Jesus, Dom." Suddenly she smiled. "Get up here, you."

He climbed over her. "You haven't even taken your clothes off," she said. "My God." She grabbed the hem of his tee-shirt and tried to pull it off him; he wrenched it off and tossed it behind him dramatically, then unbuttoned his jeans and wriggled out of them. He was proud of his body; all his work in the garden and on the house kept him in good shape, and he loved the feel of her hands stroking him. Staring at his erection, she grasped him firmly. "I can think of a number of things I'd like to do with this," she said.

"Lady's choice," he said smiling at her enthusiasm.

"Then on your hands and knees, over me, like a bridge, see? So I can do this." She sucked his prick into her mouth and began massaging his balls, not really firmly enough, with more enthusiasm than talent, but it felt so fucking good, all of it, her hands and mouth, the noises she was making as she licked and sucked and bit. Her husband really was a idiot, he decided.

She rolled him onto his back and sucked him again, then pushed his legs open and licked him between his balls and arsehole, startling him with her boldness. "You're a treasure," he tried to say, but he found it difficult to speak with someone's tongue up his arse, and could only clutch at the rumpled sheets.

Finally, he felt too close, and pulled away, looking into her eyes. "Oh, yes," she said, and lay back, opening her legs to him. He kissed her reassuringly as she watched him fit a condom on, shyly reaching out to touch him. She was a little tight when he first pressed against her, but she was soaked with his spit and her own excitement. He took his time, trying to be gentle and to make this feel good for her; from the taut lines on her face, he wasn't sure he was succeeding until he was fully sheathed. She opened her tear-filled eyes. "Thank you," she sighed. "Oh, Dom, thank you." He was afraid she would cry, but she began to move around him, slowly. They rocked together for a long time, and he forbade himself to compare her to Sean or Viggo or Elijah, and especially not to Billy. She was her sweet self and deserved to appreciated for that.

He came slowly, luxuriously, not the violent paroxysm he sometimes experienced when masturbating to the memory of other lovers, but very satisfyingly. When he'd recovered a bit, he slipped out of her, discreetly discarded the condom, and began to eat her again, with more confidence now, and she came in just a few minutes.

They lay together on the bed, Dom half-dozing in the late afternoon. "Can you stay the night?" he asked when he'd woken up a bit.

"My car's at Tom's," she said.

"He and Angus won't mind. Or gossip."

She smiled at him. "It would be nice to sleep with someone again. If you wouldn't mind."

He kissed her. "I've been alone a long time, Abby. A night with you would be lovely."

She stayed two nights, until she had to return to Manapouri. "To feed my kitties," she said, blushing. "I know it's stereotypical --"

"Hey, I've a tuatara and a turtle; you can have cats. Can I see you again?"

"Would you like to see my place? It's nothing like this, of course."

"I'd love to. We can buy paint and sponges and make the stencils."

Tom waited until Abigail had driven away before he came out to talk to Dom. "Nice gal," he said.

"You matchmaker," Dom said.

Tom shrugged. "Two people I like, both alone. Can't blame me."

Dom smacked his shoulder. "No. Just don't do it again."

He saw Abby the next week and spent three days with her. They chose four shades of green for the ivy stencils they made, and she gave him lessons in using a sponge for the stenciling. That took one day; the other two they spent in bed.

They saw each other two or three times a month; both were busy, and both were hesitant about a new relationship. Dom didn't mention her in his fortnightly calls with Billy and Elijah, nor did he tell his parents about her. He wasn't sure why, but Abigail felt too personal, too private, for him to share with anyone.

One night he received a phone call from Sean Bean. "Still welcome?" he asked.

"Of course," Dom answered. "When?"

"Aw, it's shite. Me wife left me."

"Sean, man, I'm so sorry." That was his fifth wife, Dom was pretty sure. "Come out, let me take care of you. There's lots to do here."

"Got a pub?"

"Yeah, a good one. Owned by my friend Edison."

"Tell Edison to stock up on decent beer and whiskey, then. I'm coming out, and it won't be pretty."

"Well, it's you, Sean; of course it won't be pretty."

"Arsewipe."

But Dom could only laugh. "Fly into Te Anau; I'll pick you up. We can spend a couple days there if you like. Were you in Te Anau with us? I can't remember."

"Naw, though I heard enough about it. Be good to see it. Be good to see you."

"Yeah, it's been too long. Call me when you know your flight. I'm really looking forward to seeing you, Bean."

Sean was in bad shape when he arrived; he still loathed flying and drank to combat his fear, so he was a bit tipsy when he walked out of the jetway. Dom waited impatiently behind the security barrier. They embraced, both men hanging on tightly. "Shit, I missed you," Dom said, embarrassed at the lump in his throat. He didn't even have the excuse of drink.

"Me, too, boyo. Now, I need to piss and then let's get started."

Dom drank more during those three days in Te Anau with Sean than he had in the prior month, but he also laughed more than he had in three months. Sean was recognized everywhere; not that Dom wasn't, but he was familiar by now. It was tourist season, too, and people from Kansas and Beijing and Prague kept stopping them to ask for autographs and to have their pictures taken with Sean's and Dom's arms around them.

"This is brilliant," Sean said after an encounter with a tour bus full of young musicians, mostly young women and mostly squealers. "My eardrums is bust, but my ego is --"

"Inflated," Dom finished, but he was just as guilty. One of the girls had actually groped his arse, and that hadn't happened in a long time. He remembered when it had been an annoyance to have people follow him about, gawking and pointing, but today, with Sean, it had been great fun. "Let's go home," he said. "I want to show you my place."

Dom was gratified by Sean's reaction to his place. Sean was a gardener himself, and they spent days wandering the grounds, Dom explaining his planting philosophy. They huddled over his saxifrages, wind whipping at their jackets and shoving them into each other. "Lovely, this," Sean said, pointing at the rose broom.

"Isn't it? Doin' well, too, as you see." Dom stood with his hands on his hips, looking proudly at the shrub. It was nearly as tall as he was already. "Got several of them in. They're endangered, so I'm doing a little test -- seeing where they grow best."

Sean knew a surprising amount about the native New Zealand plants, and Dom felt flattered when he admitted to reading Dom's book. "Fascinating," Sean said. "Maybe you'll help me choose some plants I can take back with me, that might do all right in me own garden."

Dom couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Yeah, course," he said, but he was already imagining air freighting Sean more plants than he could carry home. "We'll start a list." He used the journal, of course; it was battered and water-stained by now, but he still wrote in it summaries of the results of his work in the garden.

Sean also loved the house; well, who wouldn't, Dom thought, proudly showing it off. The stencil he'd done with Abigail's help turned out beautifully; even Sean noticed it. He put Sean in the blue room, because that had become a favorite of his. He liked the submarine feeling it had. "Five bathrooms?" Sean asked in disbelief.

"Well, yeah. Actually, six, cos there's a little one off the kitchen. And seven if you count the toilet in the pool area."

"Bit posh for me," Sean said, but he admitted he liked the big tub in his bathroom. "Where's your water come from out here?"

"Big aquifer under most of this area," Dom said. "It's all heated with solar, too. Panels on the south wall and roof."

"Not enough sun here for solar power."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but Tom -- he's the architect -- did a solar analysis and turns out there is. We're in the middle latitudes here, about forty-five degrees, so there's a big difference between the amount of solar energy available in summer and winter. Also, it's so rainy and foggy, that cuts it down as well. But even in winter, there's usually enough. And I have a conventional water heater as backup."

"That's a speech, there."

Dom grinned. "Yeah. I give it occasionally to the tourists."

"The amateur naturalist."

"That's me."

"Was a fine show, Dom. I shouldn't tell ya this, but I watched every one. One of me girls gave me the DVDs."

Dom felt his mouth drop open in surprise. "Shit, that's brilliant, Sean. Really."

"Ah, don't let it go to yer head now." He scratched his own head. "This place's a long way from LA. Or Manchester."

"Yeah." Dom shrugged. He wasn't going to admit to Sean how lonely he was for his old mates. "There are good people here, though. Tom and his partner. The landscaper and I are good friends, Alistair." He hesitated and then said, "There's a nice woman I'm seeing, too. Abigail."

"A woman? Blimey. I always thought -- well. Dunno what I thought, really. She lives here? You gonna introduce me?"

"She lives in Manapouri, but yeah. Thought I'd have a dinner for you, if you'd like."

Sean smiled fondly at him. "Brilliant. I'll help. I make a mean spaghetti sauce."

"You're on. But tonight: wine? Or beer?"

"Beer, idiot."

Sean seemed to settle in, and to be happy, though what, Dom asked himself, did he know of happiness. They spent much of each day in the gardens; Dom had Sean weeding and thinning, whilst he took notes on the weather and which plants were thriving and which were not. Turtle seemed to like Sean, too, which made Dom laugh, to see big Sean hulked over talking to Turtle, who'd peer nearsightedly up at him. Dom accused Sean of smuggling food out to Turtle, but he swore not. "Just me natural charm," he said, tickling Turtle's chin.

One night they stayed too long at Edison's, and Dom had to drive home very carefully. It was windy, so no fog, but he didn't want to drive off the road. Death to Man and Hobbit; he could imagine the headlines. He sighed with relief when he finally pulled into the garage, and Sean winked at him. "Quite a road, that."

"Bit much after whiskey."

"And yet I could use more."

"You sure, Sean? It's late, and we shipped a few."

"I've got something special. Smuggled it in." He disappeared down the hall to his bedroom whilst Dom hung up his jacket and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. "Here ya go." Dom turned, still drinking water. "Scotch. Malted. And very very old. Have a drink?"

"I'm not going to turn that down." He took out two glasses, polished them on a dishcloth, and set them on the kitchen bench. Sean poured three fingers into each.

"Cheers," Sean said, lifting his glass toward Dom, and then sipping. He closed his eyes, breathed through his mouth, over the liquor, and then swallowed. "Christ."

Dom imitated him. The whiskey was very soft in his mouth, although it burned a bit going down. "Oi," he said. "Thank you, Sean."

Sean drew out one of the kitchen chairs and sat at the table; Dom followed suit. "This is really nice," Sean said.

"Yes, it's that." He took another sip.

"No, ya bloody idiot. This place. Yer project."

Dom felt again the pleasure that bubbled out of him when he was complimented on the place. "Ta, Sean."

"Seriously. Never saw anything like it." He hesitated, taking another sip, and then added, "Never thought you had it in you. Any of it -- I mean, I knew you'd do fine narrating travelogues, but you did so much more. You ended up a producer and writer, yeah?" Dom nodded. "Amazing little guy, Monaghan. I'm glad fer ya. Just never thought." He stopped abruptly and stared over Dom's shoulder, at his reflection in the french doors behind him.

"Never thought what, Sean?" Dom asked.

"That you'd end up like this. So far away. Thought you were an LA kinda bloke. Parties and jokes, that's what I remember about you."

"Well, I was a bit younger. And I still enjoy all that."

Sean tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "Yeah," he said softly. "But yeh're alone, Dom. I never thought you'd end up alone."

Dom sighed, and took another sip of the whiskey. "I haven't ended up yet," he pointed out. "And you don't know that I'm alone. There's Abigail, after all."

"Yeah, course. Just a bit pissed tonight. Maudlin." He hesitated, and then said, "Look, what about Billy?"

No one had asked Dom that question in years, and he wasn't sure how to answer. He slowly turned his glass, looking at the light over the range through it. What about Billy. That really was the heart of the matter. Took a drunken Bean to reach it.

Finally he said, "Well, he married Ali. You were there; you know I was the best man."

"She's gone; ya must know that. Left him for another bloke, according to Elijah. Who, by the way, Billy's been living with."

"Yeah, I know. I talk to them twice a month." Dom felt a little annoyed by this and wondered how to divert Sean's strange intensity.

"Well. Why aren't they here? Or you there?"

"Fuck, Sean. First, it's none of your business; second --"

"No, first, it is my business. It's all our business." Sean stared at him coldly; Dom could see traces of all the bad guys he'd ever played in that stare. "Second, I love you. We all do. We talk about you, ya know, when we meet up. Vig came to see me right after Brenda buggered off, and after I finished cryin' on his shoulder, we wondered what the fuck was wrong with you, that you didn't fly out to Bill the minute you heard."

"Because the minute I heard, he was already with Elijah," Dom snapped, and stood up. "You're drunk, Sean, and I'm not far behind you. I'm going to bed."

Sean grabbed his wrist. "No. I'm sorry, okay, maybe I went too far. But everything I said is true. We all wonder. I saw Ian not long ago. And Pete and Fran, when I flew down here. It's not right, that someone like you should be alone."

"Sean, I've been alone a long, long time. Just never found anyone. I looked, you know that. I've been with some wonderful people. And Abigail is nice --"

Sean waved his hand at Dom in exasperation. "Go to bed, then. Abi-fucking-gail. What the fuck does she know about you? Only we know, Dom. We're the only ones."

They stared at each other in the dim kitchen light, Dom feeling a bit light-headed from both drink and the conversation. At last he sighed, bent over, and kissed Sean lightly on the lips. "Good night, old bean," he said, and skipped out of the way of Sean's big hand swinging toward his arse.

He had, not surprisingly, a bad night of it, and woke with a hangover. "No more fucking whiskey," he told Sean over a late breakfast of yogurt and berries. "And don't fry anything until I'm out of the house."

"Piss off," Sean said, holding his head in both hands. "Even the fucking turtle is making too much noise today."

They didn't discuss Dom's love life again, but Dom thought about what Sean had said. He thought about it as he worked in the gardens, when they went grocery shopping, whilst he called his friends to invite them to dinner, and whilst planning the menu. Sean wanted pasta, so that was easy, and he could get decent bread in town, plus wine, and he'd make the dessert himself. Wineberry ice cream, his own creation, and a celebration of native New Zealand.

The afternoon of their dinner found Sean and Dom working side-by-side in the kitchen, chopping and sauteeing, stealing bits of mushrooms and onion from each other. "You think this'll be enough?" Sean asked, looking into the pot full of chopped tomatoes.

"Mm-hmm," Dom said. "Plenty. Now let's cook it down a bit. Where's the garlic?"

They barely had time to shower before the first guests arrived, Alistair, his wife, and the two younger girls. "Where are Tessa and Luka?" Dom asked.

"Coming along later. They've a bit of a surprise for you," Alistair said. "You're Sharpe!"

"That I am," Sean said, shaking his hand and smiling hugely. "Loved that role."

"Boromir, Dad," Patricia said sotto voce.

"Well, him, too," Sean admitted. "But he up and died. Sharpe still lives."

Tom and Angus arrived next, then Edison and his wife Maple, and soon Dom's house was full of guests, laughing, gossiping, admiring his beautiful things. Abigail arrived a bit late; they kissed in the doorway as she apologized. "Had an accident working with a client," she whispered. "Look." She held out her hands and Dom saw they were very faintly blue. "Paint everywhere. Took me forever to clean up. But their dog is still really blue."

He kissed her again, and pulled her into the maelstrom within. "Everyone, this is Abigail. She's come up from Manapouri, and has had a hard day."

"Then you need a drink, my dear," Sean said gallantly. "Red or white?"

"Red, please."

"Excellent choice. Dom has an Australian shiraz I like." He poured her a glass and carried it to her. "Now, you and I must have a little chat about our Dominic."

"Bugger off," Dom muttered. Sean slung his arm around Dom's neck and kissed the top of his head.

"Mister Monaghan!" Luka shouted from the door. "Can you come out? Can everybody?"

It was still light out, the sky a pale blue tinged lavender and rose; in the west, fog rose from the ocean, and a cool breeze fanned Dom's hair. He followed Luka along the path nearly to the garage to where Tessa waited next to a pot plant of some kind. Dom bent over it, touching the leaves. "This is a North Cape kohuhu," he said.

"What's that when it's at home?" Sean asked.

"Very endangered. One of the most endangered trees in New Zealand."

"A _Pittosporum dallii,_" Tessa added. "Do you like it, Dom?"

"I love it," he said honestly, and kissed her cheek, then Luka's. "Thank you. More than I can say."

His guests applauded, making him and the girls blush, whilst Alistair beamed at all three of them.

"Nice party," Sean told him much later, whilst they straightened the kitchen.

"You helped."

"Abby's nice."

Dom smiled at him. "Yeah. Easy to be with."

"Nothin' more?" Dom looked at Sean, wondering what point he was trying to make. "I mean, like, serious? Permanent?"

"Jesus, Sean. I only met her a few weeks ago. You tryin' to marry me off?"

Sean turned his back on Dom, putting dishes back into the cupboards. After a minute, he said, "Well, Billy. I just thought, y'know, that you and Bill might, now that Ali's gone."

So did I, Dom thought, but he said, "You know Billy's got his own life. He's a busy man."

Sean turned around. "Then Elijah. I know it's been a long time since you guys were together, but you're still friends."

"That was nearly thirty years ago, Sean. We were kids."

"So were you and Billy."

"Fuck." He let the water out of the sink, watching the bubbles lower. "I've been with a lot of people since then. Why're you fixated on them? For that matter, why're you fixated on my love life?" He leered at Sean. "Interested?"

"Fuck off, ya little sodomite. I'm interested cos I love you, mate, and they do, too. From the outside, looked like you was the one running away."

"This conversation is getting old." He dried his hands and straightened the dish cloths. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."

"Dom." Sean put out a big hand and stopped Dom. "Don't be cross with me. I just. You're just so alone."

"It's okay, Sean. I'm okay. Alone isn't lonely." Which was, Dom admitted to himself, a fucking great lie, but he wasn't about to tell that to Sean.

"Yeah. Well. Your business, not mine." To Dom's surprise, Sean lightly kissed Dom. "Night, hobbit."

"Night."

Dom lay in bed, rehearsing the evening in his head. He liked it here. He'd made friends, and now there was Abby. But he felt the sting of Sean's words, and he did miss Billy and Elijah, more than he could say. He couldn't understand how he'd come to this pass. After all, they'd bought the house and lands together. All the work he'd done was with them in mind. This was their home; why weren't they here?

He rolled onto his side, irritable and sleepless. Goddammit. Goddamn Sean. Why'd he have to --

Dom sighed. Just fuck it all to hell. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

He was dreaming of Billy. He dreamt that the two of them were working together again, something he often hoped for. They were in a play, somewhere, he wasn't sure where, and he couldn't remember what play it was, either. Billy was staring at him, waiting for him, but he couldn't remember his lines. "What's next?" he whispered, but Billy shrugged. The audience grew restive and started to shout and then throw things. "Duck!" he told Billy, trying to wrestle him out of harm's way. "Shit, Bill, get down." But Billy wouldn't move even though the noise grew louder and big chunks of concrete and enormous rocks were being heaved onto the stage, which started to shake, as if in an earthquake.

"Dom! Dom!" Billy said urgently, but when Dom opened his eyes, it was Sean Bean shaking him fiercely. "Shit, wake up, come on."

"What, what?" he asked, trying to sit up.

"There's a whackin' great hole in your roof, mate," Sean said. "You'd best get up."

Dom thought he was still dreaming as he stumbled from his room down the hall. What was Sean doing here? Where was Billy? He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared.

Sean wasn't kidding; there was indeed a whacking great hole in his roof. Water dripped down from the smashed-in roof, and he could see even in the dim light the soaked walls and carpeting. Beneath his bare feet, the carpet was squelching and cold. Worse, through the hole he could see that clouds were boiling up and treetops tossing wildly; they were in for a bad storm. "It's the goddamn water heater," he said, tugging at his hair. Four hundred and fifty-four litres of water had exploded out of the tank when it fell through the roof and crashed into the floor below.

The storage tank for his thermosiphon solar water heater had had to be located above the collector, so the thermosiphoning would work. In the debris, he could see pipes and collector panels, bent, broken, and shredded looking. "Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_."

"Your house, Dom. Your beautiful house."

They stared in disbelief. Water dripped, insulation sifted through the air like feathers, the smell of antifreeze from the cracked-open heat exchanger hurt Dom's nose, shingles and tar paper hung in shreds from the gaping hole, and his beautiful wall with the carefully sponged stencil of ivy leaves was bubbling from the water soaking into the plaster.

Finally, he turned away. "I'm gonna call Tom. Get your clothes, Sean; we can't stay here. The rest of the roof might come down, and there's a fucking storm coming. We get six and a half metres of rain a year, so the one thing I do know is that it's gonna rain."

Sean silently followed him down the hallway, through the lounge and dining room, and into the kitchen, where he called Tom. "I'm sorry to wake you," he said, "but there's a whackin' great hole in my roof."

Sean packed for Dom as well as himself, working silently. Dom felt numb with shock. He returned to the hallway despite the danger, as if returning to the scene of an accident, which he supposed he was. His home. Billy and Elijah's home.

Tom and Angus arrived in less than an hour, and shortly afterwards the small crew Tom had been able to pull together at this hour. "I also called the fire department," he said when they showed up. "We need to have the house inspected, and the sooner the better."

Dom watched in silence as another stream of people milled through his home. Instead of the party atmosphere of the afternoon, these people were grim and silent. "Sorry, Mister Monaghan," several of them said, in quiet voices as if he were in mourning.

Sean stayed at his side, shaking people's hands, trying to keep Dom out of harm's way. He finally took him down to the pool, where they sat shivering.

The wind grew wilder, branches knocking against the roof of the pool area, leaves and twigs flying into the glass walls, making both men flinch. Dom felt entirely removed from the situation, as if he were back in Manchester watching this on the telly. Sean seemed to appreciate his feelings, for he kept quiet, although he also kept a close eye on Dom.

A dull, diffuse light was glowing under the clouds to the east when Tom finally came down to the pool to talk to them. He looked tired and depressed. "Oh, hell, Dom. I'm so sorry," he said, sitting next to them. "I'm so fucking sorry this happened. It's just -- this has never happened in any job I've worked on before." He rubbed his face and sighed heavily. "Fuck, I'm sorry.

"Anyway, we've pulled out the worst of it and blocked the hole with a heavy tarp. I think it's good enough to get us through this storm, and then we'll start rebuilding."

"What the bloody hell happened?" Sean asked.

Tom shook his head. "That's a big tank on the roof, so a lot of weight. It should have been okay. I mean, I've put up those systems before and never had anything like this. It looks as though there's been a slow leak, weakening the roof beneath it. It's three years old; my guess, it's been leaking most of that time. The roof itself looks okay, but the support beneath it was rotten.

"I'm so grateful it didn't hurt anyone. Christ, Dom. I'm so sorry. I don't even know what to say. We'll gut the whole area, clean it out, start fresh. I'll test the tank myself. In fact, I think I'll use two smaller ones, and connect them serially. That way if one goes out, you'd still have the other, plus the electric one inside. We'll fix this, Dom. You'll have your home back, I promise."

Dom put his head in his hands. He didn't really want to talk to Tom right now. He couldn't understand why he wasn't more upset or angry. He just felt impossibly tired.

"Thanks, Tom," he heard Sean say. "You'll take care of this, right?"

"Yes, absolutely, Mister Bean."

"Ta. I'm going to take Dom into town, to Edison's. Surely he can find a room for us."

"If not, you stay with Angus and me. We'd love to have you. It's the least I can do."

Dom felt Sean's hand on his back. "Come on," he said, and gently pulled Dom to his feet. "I packed us both. Let's get into town and get some sleep."

They had to wake Edison, who shook his head sadly at the news Sean gave him. "That's a terrible thing," he repeated. "Terrible thing. Lovely house you built, Dom. Right as rain, Tom'll make it, I know.

"Problem is, we're full up. I have a small room I'll let you, but you'll have to share and it's just the one bed. Tourists, y'know."

"That's fine," Sean said. He hoisted both their suitcases and gently nudged Dom. "Let's see it then."

Edison hadn't been kidding when he said it was a small room. "A murphy bed," Sean said. Pulled down from the wall, it nearly filled the room. "At least there's a toilet here."

"Oh, yes. You know there's breakfast from seven to ten, and tea at four. Bar's open at eleven, so you can lunch there, if ya like. But if this'll do, it's yours. No charge, now; not with everything you've done for us."

"No, Edison --" Dom tried to protest, the first time he'd spoken.

"Not a word, my boy. We're grateful you're here, and that beautiful house. Good night, then. God bless. Sleep well."

"Come on," Sean said, gently steering Dom to the bed. "In ya go. Be like old times, squashed together for a few hours."

"I'm sure I'd remember if I'd ever slept with you."

"Bugger off."

"Well, yes, that's what I do."

Sean climbed into the bed beside Dom, crawling right over him and then pulling up the covers. "Turn off the light, would ya, mate? And shut up. I'll cut ya some slack because of what happened, but not much." Dom shut off the light and tried to settle into the unfamiliar bed. No matter how he twisted, though, there was always a bit of Sean sticking into him. "For fuck's sake," Sean finally said, and pulled Dom to him. "Pretend I'm Billy, eh?"

Even in his lethargic state, Dom smiled at that. "Night, Billy," he murmured.

"Night, arsebandit," Sean whispered back, and kissed the top of his head. "I'm so sorry about your beautiful house, Dom. So fuckin' sorry."

"I know, Sean. Go to sleep. Tom'll fix it."

"He better," Sean growled, and then was quiet.

Dom lay in the small bed, Sean's arm around him, and tried not to think of his damaged home, open to the world and all its dangers. Light had begun to seep past the blinds in their room, but it was a gloomy luminescence, and Dom pulled a pillow over his eyes.

He woke up hot and twisted in the bedclothes, and nearly covered in Sean Bean, who'd draped himself over Dom as they'd slept. Sean was snoring, something Dom remembered from years ago in Rings; he and Billy used to tease him, tickling his nose with blades of grass and twigs till he'd snort and wake up. He'd usually toss something at them, too.

He liked the weight of Sean on him. Sleeping with Abby was very nice, but he missed the more substantial weight he'd grown used to, and then lost.

He was lonely, he admitted to himself. Sean was right. He was lonely. He ached for what he'd lost: the daily companionship, someone to talk to, another presence in the house, and someone to love. All left behind, years and years ago. It had been his decision, of course, but once The Amateur Naturalist had taken off and he'd become so involved in the production, it had been inevitable. He'd travel for weeks at a time, in incredibly remote places. Of course he'd be alone.

And now, here he was, a dozen years later, and it seemed he was stuck with it.

He sighed and curled closer to Sean, who grunted but didn't wake. Outside, he could hear the wind and rain, and he thought about his damaged house. For the first time since Sean had woken him, he became aware of the sorrow filling him, as if his heart were growing too large for his chest. I'm sad, he thought, as tears filled his eyes. Why didn't I realize how sad I am?

He sniffled and tried to calm down, but the terrible sadness of his loss kept flowing into him, like the rain into his home, and he suddenly gasped. He bit his lip and rubbed his face. He didn't want to wake Sean; it would be too humiliating. Caught crying in bed like a girl. Jesus. He scrubbed at his face, and took slow deep breaths.

At last, he dozed, his arms and legs feeling as heavy as lead, and he woke with a start, thinking he'd fallen off his surfboard. Sean was awake now, too, and watching him sadly.

"You look like shite," Sean said.

"Fuck you."

"Gotta piss." Dom sighed and climbed out of the bed, then went into the bathroom himself. "Hey!" Sean said as the door closed in his face.

"Just a sec." Dom pissed luxuriously. For some reason, he remembered standing at the back door of his unbuilt home with Orlando, pissing into the rainy morning, aiming at piles of rubbish. The memory made him smile.

He flushed and opened the door; Sean was practically dancing. "You'll pay," he said, pushing past Dom and pulling his prick out of his pants. "Ah, God, this feels great." He sighed happily. "You hungry?"

"I could use some coffee."

"Tea."

"Edison will have both."

"Nice bloke, Edison. Let's eat and then talk to Tom, see what's happening at the house."

Dom began to dress, wondering what he'd find in the suitcase that Sean had packed for him. "Sounds good. I gotta call the insurance company today as well."

Sean appeared around the corner and began digging through his suitcase. "I'm glad I got to see your house, Dom." He looked up, toothbrush in hand. "You did good work."

"Thanks. I'm glad you saw it, too." And he was. If only Billy and Elijah had seen it; they were the ones who mattered, yet they'd never been back since the day they bought the property.

Sean stayed with Dom for far longer than he had initially intended. Once the fire marshal declared the house habitable, they moved back in, Dom living in the other guest room whilst Tom's crew rebuilt the damaged part of the house. They had to tear out the carpet and re-do the walls and ceiling as well as rebuild the roof and solar water heater system. They had the backup electric one working in only a day, but this time, Tom was going to desperate lengths to be sure the system would never fail again.

"So fucking much to do," Dom moaned one night, staring at invoices and claims. "It'll never be finished."

Sean had made his spaghetti sauce again and slopped a ladleful onto a pile of pasta. "It's coming along fine," he said, which pissed Dom off. "You did it before, you can do it again."

"Bugger," Dom said, shoving the papers away. "It really is a money pit. I should just fucking die now so that the state can take it over."

Sean refilled his wineglass, then set a heavily-laden plate in front of him. "Eat up, mate. You're still too skinny. You and Orlando never put any weight on." He patted his belly. "Not that I give a fuck. Least I don't look like a druggie."

"Where did that come from?" Dom asked through a mouthful of spaghetti. Sean actually did make very good sauce, spicy and rich, even if he did tend to use too much anchovy paste. "I haven't played a drug addict in twenty years."

"Yeah, but ya did a fine job." Sean sipped his wine, settling into the chair opposite Dom with his own plateful. "Made the guy funny and likeable, too; that ain't easy."

Dom stared at Sean as he shoveled in the spaghetti. "Ta," he finally said. Sean's style was more taking the piss than passing out compliments; Dom decided he must be pathetic. "Thanks," he said more firmly. "And you're right. It'll get done."

"Pull yer head outta yer arse and look at everything that happened." Sean wiped his mouth and leaned his elbows on the table to fix Dom with his eye. "The townsfolk pitched right in, eh? Everybody gave ya discounts; did ya know that? Edison wouldn't take any money for the nights we spent there. How many dinners did we get invited to? Yeh're a right fool, Monaghan, not to see what you've done here." He went back to eating. "Glad I got to see it. Otherwise, I would've never believed it."

Dom wadded up his serviette and tossed it in Sean's face. He snatched it out of the air before it hit and threw it right back. "Eat yer pasta."

Dom ate his pasta, thinking about what Sean had said.

When the time came that Sean could no longer postpone engagements elsewhere in the world, Dom felt himself sinking at the thought of being alone again. "Come back to England for a visit," Sean told him as they hugged goodbye at the Te Anau airport. "Yeh're too far from home, m'boy."

"This is my home," Dom said, wiping his face on Sean's beefy shoulder. "Come back."

"I will. We all will. But don't make it one way."

They stood embracing for as long as they could, ignoring the people watching them. Dom felt like a fool; he was perilously close to tears. "I can't believe it, but I'm gonna miss you like hell."

Sean chuckled wetly. "Yeah, who knew. Must be from sleeping with me." He squeezed Dom, then gently released him. They stared at each other. Dom noticed how blue Sean's eyes were, his lashes damp and his face a bit red. "Take care," Sean finally said. He cupped Dom's face in his big hands, leaned forward, and kissed him. Dom gasped in surprise and the pain of farewell.

He watched Sean shove his carryon through the security station, turn, and raise his hand before disappearing down the corridor leading to his gate. He felt bereft, as if Sean had died, not simply flown away, and his heart thumped erratically as he tried to regain his composure. He took a deep breath.

Walking back to his car, he decided to drive to Manapouri, to see Abby. He wanted to arrange for a more elaborate stencil design down the newly-finished hallway. And he wanted to see her again. He hadn't seen her since the party six weeks earlier, the night before the roof caved in,

Another car was parked in front of her home; he wondered if she had company or if a client visiting her. But a man about his own age answered the door wearing only a bathrobe, his hair damp. "Uh, is Abby home?"

"Yeah. Hey, you're that hobbit, right? Come in. Abigail! Billy Boyd is here!"

Dom refrained from rolling his eyes. Abigail, dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, came into the front room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Michael, you idiot. Hi, Dom." She was pink in the face as she let Dom hug her, but stepped quickly back. "Dom. I'm so sorry about your beautiful home. Angus called me. I meant to come out, but things got busy here."

"Uh," Dom said again, feeling wrong footed and slow. "It's okay. Tom worked miracles, and he guarantees nothing like that will ever happen again. I wanted to talk about another stencil pattern, though. I drew some stuff --" he pulled the folded paper from his pocket. "See, it's ivy, yeah, but with a sort of stylized rose broom blossom. I thought the same green with a kind of purply-brown would look good there."

She took the paper. "Oh, it's lovely. You really are an artist. We could do this. I'll cut the stencil for you. No charge for any of it, no, I insist. My gift to your new home."

"Well, thanks." There was an awkward pause; Dom had been half expecting her to invite him to stay over for a few days, but he wasn't sure what was going on. Michael watched them calmly.

"Oh, sorry. Dom, this is my husband, Michael. Michael, a friend and client, Dom Monaghan."

"Oh, sorry. Get you guys confused."

"Yeah, well, we're pretty interchangeable," Dom said, shaking his hand and wondering if it would be justifiable homicide to throttle him. "Your husband."

"Yeah. I went to Australia for a while, but I was an idiot." Michael put his arm around Abby and smiled at her. Dom saw true affection in his face. "I really was an idiot," he said more softly to her.

"If you left her, you must be," Dom said briskly. "Okay, call me when you want to do this, Abby. You have the number."

"Yes, of course." She looked at him from the circle of her husband's arm; Dom wondered what he saw on her face. Gratitude, affection, remorse. He shrugged. Who knew.

"Bye. Nice to meet you, Michael."

"Nice to meet you. Oh, hey, you're the amateur naturalist, right? It was being repeated in Melbourne; great show."

"Thanks. Thanks, Abby. Bye."

"Bye, Dom."

Well, Dom thought, standing on her front steps; that was that.

Dom now moved into his fourth year in New Zealand. He hadn't left the country in all that time. Maybe Sean had a point. Maybe it was time to go home.

But he stayed. He loved it there, despite the isolation. He loved his house, even after the damage to it. Maybe more, he reflected as he deadheaded the roses. Even though winter was coming on hard, he was able to gather enough to fill the pitcher in the kitchen with yellow and white roses. He liked cut flowers; so sue him. All of those wonderful years of Rings, being greeted in city after city with enormous bouquets and arrangements in all the hotel rooms -- he'd learn to like the scent and presence of flowers indoors.

He stood, pressing a hand to the small of his back, and studied the sky. Fog was rolling in from the west, eating up the ocean as it headed inland and blocked the sun, so it appeared as a thin disk of silver or faded entirely away. He shivered. A cold, damp night. He decided to bring in more firewood, and wished he'd put a fireplace in his bedroom.

He began another book, this one a journey of the seasons in Fiordland. Probably his name alone would make it publishable, but if not, at least he'd have a record of what the days were like, out here at the end of nowhere. He knew he should leave for a while, if only to visit Fran and Peter in Wellington, or his friends in LA, or even go back to England for a long visit. Ian was getting on in years; he should see him, and his parents, and Sean Bean, whom he still missed.

And Billy.

But he turned that thought aside, gathered his tools and the weeds and dead flowers he'd collected, and began getting ready for the evening.

Later that night, as he sat in front of the fire, wineglass in hand, he thought: maybe money can't buy happiness, but it sure can buy isolation and quiet. And when had he, the noisiest and cheekiest of the hobbits, grown into a man who required long stretches of isolation and quiet? The years he'd traveled for the Discovery Channel? Or in reaction to the noise and activity he'd reveled in as a young man? Was he sulking? Sean had hinted at that, but Dom hoped not. He did want to be here.

He just didn't want to be here alone.

But life didn't seem to be giving him much of a choice. He looked up when the fire hissed, and a log shivered as the flames ate away at it, sparks flying upward. Outside, the fog dripped against the windows, and he knew that, were he to walk out to the edge of the cliff, just where the stairs began down to the beach, and then look back, his house would glow, a land-bound ocean liner, a tiny spot of warmth and light in the endless drear of an early winter.

The autumn ended with a sudden snowfall, the heaviest he'd seen since living there, but he was well-supplied and, if he had to, he could live for weeks without going into town. He shoveled the path to the pool and swam each morning, enjoying the thick steam that rose from the warm pool into the much cooler air. Turtle was hibernating, but his tuatara lived in the pool area, making its home there as if in an oversized terrarium. He would sometimes poke his head out from the foliage when Dom swam in the mornings. He liked Dom to scratch his head, right where the vestigial third eye was. Dom often wondered what it would be like to have a third eye; although he knew that its lens couldn't collect light, he felt it must see something, maybe on a different frequency. He liked to sit at the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, and croon to the strange creature.

Tom drove out from town several times, to check on the roof and apologize. "I just can't understand," he said, climbing down from the roof and scratching his head. "Never saw anything like it. But these two are holding tight."

"Come by any time," Dom said, shaking his hand. "You don't have to climb my roof just to say hello."

Once the house had been built, he'd no longer had an excuse to call Billy and Elijah, and their fortnightly calls had dwindled to once a month or so. He missed that regular contact, that sense of checking in. No, he corrected himself as he tidied an already tidy guestroom; he missed the sense that someone wanted him to check in regularly. And yes, he called his parents weekly, and his brother once a month, but that wasn't the same thing.

He was working on his latest book, researching herbs native to New Zealand that he'd planted, when the phone rang. "John!" he said in surprise, sitting back. "Shit, it's been years. How are you?"

"Aged, my dear boy, I am old before my time." Maybe so, Dom smiled to himself, but John still had the booming voice he remembered.

"You don't sound it."

"Thank you, thank you. And how are you, Master Meriadoc, so very far from your home in the Shire?"

"This is my home, John. But I'm fine. Well, snowed in for the third time this winter, but other than that, I'm fine."

"Dear God. I forget that the seasons work backwards there. Imagine snow in July. I've heard marvelous things about your project out there. I saw Sean Bean last week, who raved about the place."

"Bean did? Thought he hated it. Did he tell you about the night the roof collapsed?"

"Oh, my dear, he'll be dining out on that for decades. He also told me how beautifully it was repaired; better than before, he said."

"Well, maybe. The architect thinks so, at least. But I'd just as soon it hadn't happened."

"Of course. Now, settle back and tell me all about your life out there."

"Why not come out? See for yourself?"

"Ah, Dom." John sighed heavily into the phone. "I'm afraid I'm no longer well enough for such a long journey. The arthritis, you know. And my ticker isn't what it once was."

"John. What's wrong?"

"Nothing that time and the grave won't heal."

"Fuck, you're scaring me. Are you all right?"

"I am, lad. Just old and tired. I'm not aging as well as dear Ian, I'm afraid. Fortunately, as you say, I still have my voice, so I do voice-overs and commercials for the telly and I've even started doing audio books. So I keep busy. Just not the same."

"No, I guess not. I'm sorry."

"Tosh! Nothing to be sorry for! We all come to this in the end, in one way or another. Now. Talk to me. Let's have a good long chinwag."

"Chinwag. It sounds obscene."

"Well, you hobbits would know about that. Chinwagged everybody in the cast _and_ crew, I should think."

"Hmm. Did I do you? Can't remember."

"Naughty boy! I certainly would remember that honour. No, not me, as you well know. And Bean claims not him, even though you did sleep together. But everyone else, I'm sure, including Peter."

Dom started to laugh. "No, I swear! Never Pete. Didn't even cross my mind."

"Talk to me, Dominic. Tell me your life."

He smiled into the phone. "I'm writing a book about it, actually. Just the day-to-day stuff, nothing really interesting, but I thought I might self-publish and share with a few old friends."

"Give me a preview."

Dom scrolled back up to the top of the document. "Okay, but remember: You asked for it. So. I decided to start with spring, in September, although it's not really just this past September. It's sort of a summary of all the Septembers here. You really want to hear this?"

"Dom."

He began to read, making corrections and small changes as he did. John interrupted occasionally, for clarification or more detail, and Dom put notations into the text. He started with Billy and Elijah, when they'd agreed to buy the property and begin this venture. He included his parents' visit from two years earlier, when his mum had bought Turtle, and Orli's drunken arrival from nearly four years ago, when only the frame of the house had been up.

He read until his mouth was dry and his throat a bit sore. "That's all so far," he explained. "I have notes for the rest, but nothing in detail."

"It's brilliant," John said softly. "I wish I could come out. What a marvelous thing you're doing. It's a gift, what you've done. Really, it's a gift you have, to conceive these ideas and bring them to fruition."

"Thank you," Dom said, moved at John's words. "Sometimes it seems pretty selfish, but I try to remember that someday, this will belong to New Zealand. I like to imagine it as a museum, with tours coming through to hear lectures and see demonstrations of pre-Pakeha New Zealand."

"Lovely, lovely, lovely."

They both fell silent for a while, and Dom listened to the sound of distance hissing through the phone. "This is going to cost you a small fortune," he finally said. "I should let you go."

"I suppose so." John hesitated, and Dom pressed the receiver close to his ear. "Just missed you. So far away. We talk about you, you know. I don't see the others often, but sometimes they call. You always were the golden boy, Dom. I hope you know how much you're loved."

Dom was embarrassed by how quickly tears filled his eyes and how his throat seemed to close. "Thank you," he whispered, and swallowed. His face burned with embarrassment, but he made himself say, "Love you, too, John."

"Ah, but you're a good man. Take care of yourself out there, Dominic, so far away. Perhaps we'll talk again one day."

"I'd like that. Thank you for calling."

"Thank you." He listened as John rang off, and slowly pressed "end" on his handset. He sat at his desk for a long time, not writing, not reading, just remembering. John taking them to dinner. His enormous laugh. The stories he loved to tell, reminiscing about movies and the theatre and other actors. John had lived a full life. He'd been kind to Dom, too, when he'd been young and a little afraid of what he'd taken on by accepting the role of Merry.

Dom had loved John for sending Brett when they got their tattoos. He'd made a joke of it, saying since it was dangerous he would send his stunt double, but Dom knew it had been his sense of fair play, because most of John's scenes had had to be done against a blue screen whilst they'd acted with Brett. What a lonely performance that must have been, yet he'd never been anything less than professional, despite the pain and embarrassment of his allergic reaction to the prosthetics.

At last Dom rose. He needed tea, and a diversion. Talking to John, now so old and unwell, had reminded Dom of his own isolation. At least John had his family around him.

He peered out the window above his desk at the silent, unbroken landscape of mounded snow. Time for some music, too. No neighbors to disturb here, so he could crank the stereo up as loudly as he wanted. No Ian to roar disapproval, or Sean Astin to roll his eyes.

No Elijah to dance with. No Billy to laugh with.

Fuck, but he was getting morbid. Maybe he needed something stronger than tea. He needed to get into town for a few nights, toss back a few with Edison, have dinner with Alistair and his family. He'd postpone tea and start digging out the drive, see how bad the road was. He'd risk a careful drive for some company right now.

He soon was sitting in Edison's bar sipping a vodka martini, wondering what the fuck he was doing. Edison was on the phone, trying to charm another tour group into adding him to their rounds. "Gorgeous scenery," he was saying. He glanced guiltily at Dom. "Might be able to offer a lecture on the environment." Dom raised his glass at him.

"You okay?" Edison asked, coming to lean on the bar in front of Dom.

"Fine, never better. Just needed some company."

"Not much of that today with the snow and all. You'll be spending the night, I think, what with the roads and, uh."

"In that case, another martini, barkeep." He slapped the top of the bar. "And pour yourself one, too."

"Guinness for me, if ya don't mind."

"I never mind Guinness." He watched as Edison mixed his martini and then slowly drew himself a pint with a beautiful head. "Lovely job," Dom said when he was finished. "That's an art."

"It is that," Edison agreed, and sipped happily.

They chatted for a while, but then Maple called Edison away and Dom was left sitting alone in the dark bar. On a whim, he pulled out his mobile and dialed Billy, but only got his voicemail. "Hey," Dom said softly, as if fearful someone would overhear. "I'm sitting in the bar and the smell of beer has saturated the air. It's winter here, you know, so I came into town for some company, but there's nobody here. Just the snow, lots of snow. What time is it there, and why aren't you answering?

"I'm a bit drunk, Bill. Don't worry; I'm staying at Edison's. I won't drive home in this, like this. Just hoped to talk. Tell Lij hello. Love you both, y'know. Did you know? I don't know if ya know, but I do.

"Ah, Bill." He sighed. "The things we've seen and done. I remember so much. I hope -- well, doesn't matter. I'm drunker than I knew. Ignore me. Kiss Lij. Love him well; he deserves it, same as you."

He held onto the phone for a few seconds longer, but his words had run out. At last he pressed "end" and tucked the phone into his pocket. "Edison!" he called. "Where d'ya want me?"

"Would number twelve do?"

"Perfect. I'll get the key."

"Maple'll have supper ready in an hour. It's just you, so you'll eat with us tonight, all right?"

"Thank you." Dom slid from the barstool. "In an hour." In his room, he sat on the bed and then flopped back. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, and then pushed them deeply into his groin. He ached to be touched. He unzipped and pressed his hands against his prick before slipping his right hand into his pants. He felt hot and sticky and heavy. Closing his eyes, he remembered Billy doing this, touching him, staring at him with his heavy-lidded eyes before drawing Dom's prick into his mouth. Dom remembered watching Billy's cheeks hollow and fill as he sucked, and the warmth of his wet mouth around his prick. He pushed his left hand deeper into his pants so he could cup his balls, rolling them in his hand.

He remembered Elijah, too; they'd been so young and excited by every touch, every kiss, every embrace. How thrilled he'd been to discover that Elijah wanted him. They'd fucked everywhere in New Zealand, indoors and out, risking exposure because they couldn't stop touching each other. He remembered Elijah sinking to his knees somewhere, staring up at Dom, and he remembered how dangerous and illicit it had seemed to do these things with this young and beautiful American.

Shit, shit, he thought, and jerked himself harder. How had he gone so long without their hands and mouths on him? Their pricks pushing into him? He groaned at that thought. He remembered the first time with Billy and how embarrassed they'd both been, but he'd wanted it so fucking much that the embarrassment and pain had been more than repaid. He wanted that again, to feel Billy's long narrow prick entering him, deeper and deeper until they were utterly joined. How could they have been once connected in that way and now not? It was impossible.

He put two fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva, and then slowing pressed into himself, trying to pretend it was Billy touching him there, gently demanding entrance. He groaned again, and put his heels on the bed, twisting on his fingers, pretending, pretending, while pulling on his prick. His arsehole clenched and released around his fingers and he felt something building inside him, something he wanted, something powerful, and he came almost painfully hard, thinking: Billy, Billy, Billy.

He took a deep breath, then rolled onto his side, mopping his belly with his shirt. He should shower, but he was so relaxed. Just a quick nap, he thought; just a moment and then I'll get up. His eyes closed and his body felt heavy, weighted by sleep and memories. He dreamt, not of Billy, but of Elijah, of the time when they had met again after being separated. He'd been on the South Island, in Twizel, and Elijah had been up on Mount Ruapehu. Finally there'd been a chance to meet and in his dream he rushed to Elijah, wrapping his arms around him as Elijah embraced him, and they kissed, sticky, smoky, passionate kisses that embarrassed Dom even as he craved them. "I missed you," he whispered to dream-Elijah. "I missed you so much, so much," but Elijah never answered, and slowly the dream changed and Dom watched Elijah leave, and again he was left behind.

He woke late for dinner, sticky and hungover.

The winter passed, as winters do, even winters in the southern hemisphere. Dom was happy when the roads were clear again; he was spending more time in town, lecturing to the tourists who piled into Edison's twice a week, lunching with his friends, driving into Te Anau for supplies. He bought himself a new computer, and a four-wheel drive pickup truck, so that next winter he could get into town more easily. He lived as full a life as he could, always remembering his conversation with John. We all come to this in the end, he'd said to Dom; all the more reason to enjoy every moment of his charmed life.

Dom thought of it afterwards as the Day of the Blue Penguins. The rains had finally relinquished their hold over Fiordland and he'd had nearly a week of clear weather, with only the morning fog and afternoon drizzle. He'd been up early for a swim and breakfast and had gone back to bed, reading the paper, when he first heard it. He thought a crowd of tourists had descended on him and were wandering around unsupervised, the noise was so great. He dressed quickly, in khaki shorts, an elderly tee-shirt Elijah had given him when they'd both lived in LA, and pulled on his trainers before stepping out onto his balcony.

At the cliff's edge, right on the path to the beach, he saw them: two blue penguins. It was early spring, and he wondered if it was mating season, because they were wholly absorbed in each other. They seemed to be dancing, waddling around each other in slow motion and awkward but clearly patterned movements. Periodically, they would beat their wings on their chests, or on the other's chest; that was the noise he'd been hearing. He laughed quietly as they shuffled one way, then another, delicately lifting first one cartoon-like foot, then the other, then hop and hop again.

He watched for a long time, pulling up a chair, and then fetching one of Elijah's cigarettes, a bit stale but still satisfying. It was an unusually warm day for October; the winds should be returning soon, and already it was raining a bit each day. He'd heard it would be a wet year and had wondered what that meant in metres of rain.

The penguins danced on, around and around each other. Dom winced occasionally as they squashed a saxifrage or sedge, but it was right and natural that they should be here. Dancing for him. He knew he should get a camera, or even his journal to sketch them, but it seemed too intimate a moment to share. This was for him, a reward for his hard work and dedication and love for this place. They were dancing for him. He needed to research penguins, but he hoped they'd lay their eggs here, and keep him company during the long winter months.

He heard a noise behind him and turned his head, wondering if there was an entire flock of penguins come visiting. He stood up so quickly that he knocked over his chair, and behind him, he heard the penguins bark out a complaint.

"Bill. Lij," he said.

Elijah took the cigarette from his hand and inhaled. "Oh, God, why do I keep trying to give this up? Even stale this tastes wonderful," he moaned, smoke trickling from his lips. "And when did you start?"

"You left the pack behind," Dom said dumbly, staring at the two men.

"I think we left more than that behind," Billy said. "Come here, Dom."

Dom found himself unable to move at first, so shocked was he by their arrival. Then he threw his arms around Billy and hung on tightly as Bill pounded his back and kissed his cheeks and Elijah curled around them both, like a vine. "Fuck, I fucking missed you," Dom finally said, struggling to breathe evenly.

"Not as much as I missed you," Billy said very seriously.

"Or me," Elijah added. "You look tired, Dom."

"You do," Billy said, nodding. He studied Dom so intently that Dom felt himself blush. "I think you need a bit of spoiling."

"Viggo sends his love," Elijah said, taking Billy's and Dom's hands and pulling them back into the house. "He said this place is amazing, and that you have to show us every little thing. And Sean sends his love, and big kisses, which is really weird, and also that the project is brilliant."

"Brilliant," Dom echoed, still dazed. "How d'you get here? Why now?

Elijah noisily smooched his cheek and Billy squeezed his hand. "Time, innit?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah." Dom shook his head. "Um. The project. How about I show you your rooms first? Billy's is next door." He led the way down the hall and stopped, gesturing to Billy to go in first. The doors were thrown open; Dom always left all the doors open, even in winter, to keep the rooms warm and aired out; from where they stood in the hall, Dom could see the view he'd built the house for, the view for Billy, the view he hadn't seen since Dom had scratched out a rough diagram of the house in the soil when he'd last visited.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Elijah whispered, looking around.

"Dom, this is fantastic," Billy said, and stepped forward like a sleepwalker. The room itself seemed to be a frame for the view, done in shades of hazel-y green, and the garden outside glowed like a Vermeer painting, the colours deep and rich.

"Look, Bill." Dom led them outside and knelt to lightly stroke the saxifrage that covered the stone borders. "It's called _saxifraga boydii_, and this particular one? It's called William Boyd."

Billy crouched down beside him, staring at the fuzzy plants creeping over the white stones. He rested his hand on Dom's. "It's more than fantastic," he finally said. He looked at Dom, and Dom saw that Billy understood what this room was, what all this work was.

Then Billy rose swiftly. "Come here," he said, and led Dom back into his room. He sat at the white desk in front of the window, a skylight above it, and Dom thought he looked exactly as if he'd always been there. Exactly as he'd imagined Billy from the very first day he'd stepped foot on this land.

Dom went to him, kneeling before him. Billy put his hands on Dom's face and kissed his forehead, then his mouth. "You did this for me," he whispered. Dom nodded. "This is what your heart looks like, Dom."

Dom smiled. Behind him he heard Elijah shift but before he could turn, Billy said, "Lij, give us a minute?"

"Sure," Elijah said, and Dom heard him jog up the hall.

Billy looked steadily at him. "Been a while," Dom finally said, feeling inadequate to the moment.

"Too long." Dom's knees ached where they pressed against the carpeting, but he remained in front of Billy, looking up at him. Expecting what? he asked himself, but he knew he'd take anything that Billy offered. "I'm sorry it took so long," Billy finally continued. "As Lij would say, shit happened. I had to take care of a few things at home, in Glasgow and in New York. You know that I've been with him for a while, yeah?"

Dom nodded. "Yeah, course I do. You guys are good for each other."

"What's good for you, Dominic? Can you answer me that?"

Dom's throat ached from all the emotions he kept swallowing. He shrugged, embarrassed, but Billy never dropped his gaze. "Yeah, I can answer," Dom said at last. "But you already know. If you know what this place is, you already know."

They stared at each other; Billy smiled and then kissed him, their first real kiss in decades, and Dom's head grew dizzy. He'd been alone so long; he was agonizingly hungry for another's touch, and that the touch was Billy's was intoxicating. He wanted to pull Billy off that chair and climb onto him, to dance with him as the penguins had been dancing. The press of Billy's mouth against his, the warm slickness of his tongue, the taste of his saliva -- Dom had begun to believe he would never experience this again, not with anyone, and certainly not with Billy.

Dom leaned forward into Billy, feeling his warmth as he folded himself around Dom. His mouth was hot and sweet, and Dom remembered their kisses from years ago, their earliest kisses, tentative and unsure, when they were just discovering who they could be to each other. He remembered their last kiss, on this very spot, before the house was built, when Billy's room was only scratched out in the soil.

When Billy finally disengaged, he stood and pulled Dom up with him. "Your poor knees," he said, holding on tightly to Dom.

"They're fine, Bill, I promise." Dom kissed Billy again, a quick kiss. "Is there more where that came from?"

"Oh, I think I can guarantee that," Billy said, and kissed Dom again, firmly, sliding his arms around Dom's shoulders. Dom linked his hands behind Billy's back, relaxing into their embrace.

"This feels so right," he whispered. "I missed you."

"Oh, but I missed you. I'm sorry I stayed away so long --"

"No, it's all right. I promise. Just --"

"I won't. I do promise." Dom rested his head against Billy's, loving the warmth of Billy's breath against his face. "You are a dear man," Billy whispered, raising one hand to stroke Dom's face.

"Guys?" Elijah said quietly. Dom turned his head to see him standing at the door. Billy held out a hand to him, and he came. "Dom?"

Dom shook his head, a little overwhelmed. "What -- Elijah?"

Elijah smiled sadly. "All those years ago, remember, Dom? I do. I remember everything."

"Course I do."

"Well. Bill and I. Um, we wondered."

"Dom, you built the house for the three of us, did you not?"

"Yeah, you know that." Dom felt nearly dizzy with surprise. "What are you saying? You both? Here, with me?"

"If you want," Elijah said. "You don't have to decide right now --"

Dom kissed him, and heard Billy chuckle as he did. "I think he's already decided," Billy said. Dom kissed Elijah's lips and leaned back to study them.

"How long have you had this planned?"

Billy bit his lower lip, then sighed. "Not as long as we should have. I was messed up for a while. Elijah helped."

"I tried," Elijah said, stroking Billy's back. "I thought about asking you to come back, Dom, but you were so busy here, and so far away."

"It was my fault," Billy said. "I felt like a failure."

"It was nobody fault," Dom said firmly. "Maybe we needed the time. To, you know, understand what we wanted."

Elijah looked gratefully at him. "Where's my bedroom, Dommie?" he asked after a moment. "Is it this way? Did you let anyone stay in it yet?"

"No, course not. It's yours. And it's here." Again, he stopped outside and let Elijah go in first, then Billy, He watched nervously as Elijah spun in a circle, almost pirouetting to see everything. His room was done not in the blue of his eyes, but in the pale eclipse that so enchanted Sean Astin when they were filming. The walls were a pale pale blue, with touches of off white and shiny aluminium. The bed was tall with white posts; a bit effeminate, but it worked for Elijah.

"It's beautiful," Elijah finally said, and turned to look at Dom. "You made it for me."

"Just for you," he agreed, trying to hide his smile behind his hand as he scratched at his light beard. "Lij --"

Elijah ran to him, hugging him fiercely, burying his face in Dom's neck. "I love it," he whispered. "I love you." Dom embraced Elijah, and kissed his temple, stroking the soft hair. Elijah sniffled and then looked at him. "Are you sure this is what you want, Dom?"

Dom kissed Elijah on his pink mouth, tender and bitter. "I want this, yeah. I want everything, Doodle."

"Lucky for you we can give you everything," Elijah said happily. They kissed again, but cheerfully. Elijah's stomach growled and they laughed. Billy put his arms around Dom, resting his chin on Dom's shoulder. "Lunch first."

Dom kissed him, and then Elijah again, and then Billy yet again, the first of what he hoped would be a lifetime of kisses, before leading them into the kitchen. "Lucky for you I like to cook," he told them, staring into the fridge.

"Lucky for you we brought a lot of supplies," Elijah said. "So are we, like, a menage a trois now?"

Dom scrubbed at his hair. "Um. Well, Viggo. And Orlando, when he and Jennifer broke up the first time. And Sean."

"Yeah, he told me," Elijah said. "Menage a six, then? Sept?"

"Elijah," Billy said, taking his hand. "I think there's a better word for what we are."

"Fellowship?" Dom hazarded, closing the fridge door to watch them.

"Better than that."

"I know," Elijah said, grinning. He linked hands with Billy and Dom and drew them together. "First fuck, then eat, then sleep, then swim."

"That's what we _do_," Billy said, "not what we _are_."

"We are whatever we want to be," Dom said abruptly. It was suddenly as clear to him as the sunny day outside. "All of us. But we're the centre."

"No, love," Elijah said. "You're the centre. Then us. Then the others. But you're the centre."

"The centre that _can_ hold," Billy added. He kissed Dom again, messier this time, and Dom felt his prick stir in his pants. Elijah's priorities sounded very good to him. "You built this beautiful place for all of us. And we'll come and sometimes we might go, but we'll always come back."

"And some are gonna stay forever," Elijah added, staring at Billy. Dom looked at Billy, who blushed.

"Don't know if you want that," he said. "But yeah. Seems time. You know."

"It is time," Dom agreed, smiling so hard his face hurt. "Here with me, in the rain and wind and fog and occasional sunny day."

"Through high water and low," Billy said, touching Dom's face with his free hand.

"It's a miracle," Elijah said dramatically, sounding thirty years younger. "Now blow him and let's eat."

~ ~ ~

**Notes**: Details about New Zealand flora and fauna were taken from Mary Gillham's book _A Naturalist in New Zealand._ I also learned a lot from this two excellent websites, now no longer available, that discussed threatened plants and animals in New Zealand.

To my surprise, in my research I discovered the saxifrage "William Boyd." You can read about it [here](http://www.saxifraga.org/plants/saxbase/taxon.asp?Taxon=1310&OInv=&OHyb=&OExt=&OHort=), and [here](http://www.saxifraga.org/plants/saxbase/taxon_image.asp?Image=359) is a picture of a _saxifraga boydii_; although not William Boyd, it is a close relative.

The location of Dom's property exists only in a geography of my imagination. I invented a road heading west from the Te Anau-Manapouri Road to the coast between Dagg and Breaksee Sounds. You can imagine it on this map [link no longer available]. I also invented the nameless town in which Tom, Angus, Alistair, Edison, and the others live. Te Anau and Manapouri are, of course, real towns, and I left them alone. Dom's property is also in the middle of Fiordland National Park, so it's unlikely even a hobbit would be permitted to purchase land there.

The PrincessofG guided me through the construction of Dom's house, although of course all errors are mine.

Everything I know about solar water heating systems came from [here](http://solarroofs.com/).

* * *

Posted June 1, 2007;  
Updated December 31, 2009


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